


My Baby, Wide-Eyed and Pretty

by marcat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-03-13 09:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 75,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18938353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marcat/pseuds/marcat
Summary: Why should Jon prefer Daenerys over her? What did she have that Sansa didn’t?Blood, she thought to herself. They don't share the same blood. They could do whatever they liked without shame or guilt. He and Sansa could not.Jonsa with a splash of Jonaerys. The season 8 we deserved.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The slow burn continues.....

“I’m very excited to meet your sister,” Daenerys said.

Jon grunted in reply. Sansa would not be excited to meet her.

They were less than a day’s ride from Winterfell now, but a snow storm and exhaustion had them stopping for the night. Dany insisted Jon share her tent. He was uncomfortable with it but accepted her offer.

He didn’t want people to know he was sleeping with the queen. He somehow felt dirty for it, like he was committing some terrible sin by following her into bed every night. He felt disloyal.

 “She’s nearly all you talked about,” Dany continued. “She seems quite a remarkable woman.”

“She is.”

“She and I have quite a bit in common. In terms of our marriages and being sold off.”

“You told me you loved your husband. You named your favorite dragon for him.”

“I didn’t love him at first. Not for a while, actually. But I don’t think Sansa ever came around to her husbands, except maybe Tyrion.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Jon’s tone was harsher than he meant it to be. He couldn’t stand to think of the things his poor sister endured.

Sansa didn’t seem to mind discussing it – never in detail, of course, but she didn’t choke on the names of the men who abused her. She wasn’t haunted by the ghosts of Winterfell; it was her home and she went where she pleased when she pleased.

The only room she wouldn’t enter had belonged to Theon in their childhood. Rickon declared that he would take the room for himself once he was old enough to challenge Theon for it. _“Ramsey kept me here_ ,” she said. “ _I’ve seen far too much of this room_.”

Dany perked up at once, hoping to distract her new lover. “Tell me about Winterfell, then. Your favorite memories growing up.”

Jon thought for a moment. He couldn’t talk about Sansa even if he wanted to; they had few happy moments together growing up.

He grinned as he settled on a memory. “When we were nine or ten, Theon taught me and Robb curse words.”

Dany giggled. “Curse words?”

“Aye. The Iron born aren’t known for gentle speech, and of course Theon picked up on it before he came to Winterfell. We were all in the armory repeating these words over and over – and laughing, of course.”

Dany smiled, too. “As little boys are wont to do.”

“Sansa heard us and tattled – at least I think it was her, we never knew for sure – and the septa came storming in. she was furious.” He actually laughed; something Dany had never seen before. “She took Robb and Theon by the ears and dragged us all into the sept.

‘You’ll apologize to the gods for your crudeness,’ she said.

Robb and I had the old gods, and Theon followed the Drowned God, so we didn’t think we should be in the sept.

Robb said, ‘Septa, we can’t apologize, these aren’t our gods.’

She looked ready to throttle him. She said, ‘No, they aren’t. the new gods are much angrier.’”

Jon chuckled again.

Dany leaned her head against his shoulder. “I wish my childhood had been as happy as yours.”

*

The ride through Winter Town was uncomfortably silent.

Dany reveled in the people’s wonderstruck gazes and whispers of “That’s the dragon queen!”

Jon couldn’t stop shifting in his saddle. He was tired of traveling – he was seasick on the boats (he quite nearly vomited on Daenerys the first time they’d made love) and nearly crushed his balls riding these damn horses. No wonder the Dothraki were so angry all the time – they generally rode bareback at a full gallop. It was a wonder they could even father children.

The lords and men-at-arms were assembled in the courtyard when the queen and her party entered through the gates.

Jon ran straight to his brother – fully grown now, with a strong nose and proper jaw, not the babylike child he left all those years ago. He was too excited to even look at Sansa, though all he’d done in the time he’d left was think of their reunion. “Look at you.” There were proud, joyful tears in his eyes. “You’re a man now.”

Bran looked as though he was suppressing a smile. “Almost.”

 _Bran and Arya have come home_ , Sansa’s note said. _They are both well. Bran is very different now_.

Jon didn’t know what that meant when he first read the scroll at Storm’s End, but he imagined it wasn’t something good if Sansa felt the need to note it.

Sansa opened her arms and wiggled her fingers, waiting quite impatiently for Jon to embrace her. She’d imagined this embrace would be much like the one they shared at Castle Black. It wasn’t. There was a deep anger and anxiety below it; each was afraid what the other would do and what they had done already.

Sansa couldn’t relax. She kept her eyes open, trained on a small woman with her hands folded in front of her. Her white hair was intricately braided, her smile thin-lipped. Her gaze was filled with warmth. Beneath it lay anxiety.

“Where’s Arya?”

“Lurking somewhere.”

Daenerys approached the party. Jon cleared his throat before introducing his new queen. “Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. My sister, Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell.”

Jon had spoken endlessly of his sister – she was tall, red hair, blue eyes. _Beautiful_ , he said. She was far taller than Dany had anticipated, and it didn’t help that an absolutely enormous woman with a sword stood behind her.

“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said warmly. “The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed. As are you.”

It was perhaps the worst thing she could have said. Jon knew that right away.

Most people who called Sansa beautiful had harmed her, and now they were mostly dead. It was an insult to her intelligence, too. Assuming that idle flattery from a foreign stranger might earn some level of trust and adoration.

Sansa looked her over, letting the silence drag on for a long moment. She blinked and put on a half-smile. “Winterfell is yours, your grace.”

Bran suddenly opened his mouth and said that the Night King was coming, that he’d broken through the wall, that he rode the dead dragon Viserion.

Jon glanced at Sansa again. _Bran is very different now_.

Dany stood by the hearth rather than sitting at the great table as the lords met in the great hall. Such a table was not worthy of her beauty and grace, Sansa thought.

“We need more horses and wagons, if it please milady,” young Lord Umber said in response to a question about bringing his people to Winterfell. “And milord. And . . . my . . . queen.” His eyes flicked to the floor and back. “Sorry.”

“You’ll have as many as we can spare,” Sansa said. “Hurry back to Last Hearth and bring your people here.”

Jon told the maestor to send ravens to the Night’s Watch with instructions. Wolkan bowed. “At once, your grace.”

“Your grace.” The icy voice belonged to young Lyanna Mormont. “But you’re not, are you? You left Winterfell a king and came back as . . . I don’t know what you are now. A lord? Nothing at all?”

The other lords began to stir in their seats. They were all waiting for someone to start the inevitable fight.

Jon mustered up what he hoped was a soothing smile. “It’s not important.”

“Not important? We named you King in the North!”

A great cry came up; Sansa tried to hide her look of satisfaction when she glanced at Jon, who had looked to her for some defense _._

You did, my lady. It was the honor of my life. I will always be grateful for your faith.” Jon stood to address the room. “When I left Winterfell, I said we needed allies. I have brought those allies home. To fight alongside us.” Daenerys looked at Jon while Sansa looked at her. Allies, indeed. “I had a choice: Keep my crown or protect the North. I chose the North.”

That explanation was unsatisfactory, as was Tyrion’s speech about Jon’s courage and his sister sending along her army. He only made things worse. Sansa and Lyanna might have killed him with the way they glared at the Hand.

“May I ask, how are we meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen? I ensured we had enough provisions to last us five years of winter. I failed to account for Dothraki, Unsullied, and two full-grown dragons. What do dragons eat, anyway?”

Everyone turned to the dragon queen for her reply. “Whatever they want.”

*

Jon’s skin crawled when Dany suggested the two of them stay in a cave forever. He’d promised Ygritte he would do the same with her. He didn’t want to make the same promise someone else. That would be disloyal.

Jon couldn’t even stand to think what Ygritte would do to the Targaryen. Her temper was as bad as Sansa’s, and her archery skills were a thousand times better. He imagined it would be an unpleasant encounter for everyone involved.

He was still thinking about it when he came to speak to Sansa. She informed him that the Glovers had broken faith.

“ _House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years_ ,” Jon growled. “Isn’t that what he said?”

“I will stand behind Jon Snow, he said. The King in the North,” Sansa bit out.

“I told you we needed allies.”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to abandon your crown.”

“I never wanted a crown; all I wanted was to protect the North. I brought two armies home with me! Two dragons!”

Sansa whipped around. “And a Targaryen queen.”

“Do you think we can beat the army of the dead without her? I fought them, Sansa. Twice. Who care who holds what lands or what title? I’m telling you it doesn’t matter. Without her, we don’t stand a chance!” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Just this once, I’m asking you to listen to me. Trust my judgment.”

Sansa felt ashamed suddenly. She shouldn’t have spoken to him like that. He was thick-skulled and impulsive but he didn’t deserve that. The air hitched in her throat when she saw the sadness in his eyes.

He looked so tired when he spoke again – the scars on his face, the lines around his eyes, his unkempt beard and hair. He hadn’t rested once in all the time since he left for the Night’s Watch. Death, as it turned out, was far from the eternal slumber people dreamed of.

“Do you have any faith in me at all?”

Sansa swallowed back the lump in her throat. “You know I do.”

“She’ll be a good queen,” he promised. “For all of us. She’s not her father.”

“No, she’s much prettier.” All the bluster had gone out of her. She was tired, too, and more than anything she was hurt. Why should he prefer Daenerys over her? What did she have that Sansa didn’t?

Blood, she thought to herself. They don’t share the same blood. They could do whatever they liked without shame or guilt. He and Sansa could not.

Jon smiled slightly at her comment. Sansa hadn’t meant to be funny, but she liked her brother’s smile too much to set him straight.

She wondered if the dragon queen made him laugh. If he embraced her the way he embraced Sansa. If he thought about her when they were together. If he thought about her at all.

“Did you bend the knee to save the North or because you love her?”

Jon could only stare at his sister in shock and pain.

“Never mind,” Sansa said, turning back to the papers on her desk. “I hope she was at least a good fuck. You should go; we both have work to attend to.”

Jon was too shocked and too tired to say anything He was halfway out the door when something finally occurred to him. “What happened to Littlefinger?”

She didn’t miss a beat. She did not turn to face him when she replied, in the same icy tone, “He underestimated me. It seems to be a common mistake.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confrontations! Now we're getting to the good stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this one! Shit's starting to hit the fan. The drama is well on its way.

Some of the people of Winterfell, mostly servants but some nobles as well, took to singing to themselves when the Targaryen woman was near.

“ _Damn all banners black and red, we seek justice for our dead, our great stags and wolves will tear apart your dragons . ._.”

Daenerys blinked and puckered her lips with displeasure as she and her advisors walked through the main courtyard. “What are they singing?”

“Trust me, my queen, you’ll be happier not knowing,” said Varys.

Bran’s soft voice answered. “It’s a war song.”

None of them had even noticed him lurking by the wall until he spoke. Varys was so surprised he clutched his heart.

Daenerys stepped toward him. “What is it about?”

“I find that boy very unsettling,” Varys said to Tyrion.

Tyrion frowned. “You’d change, too, if you fell out of a window as a child.”

Varys was offended. “I was mutilated by a fire witch. I hardly think he has the advantage.”

 “It’s about Robert’s Rebellion,” Bran told Daenerys. “What your father did to the Starks. And your brother.”

Dany bristled. She understood that her father was a monster; she never doubted it, never questioned it - not since she was a child and Viserys filled her head with lies. But Ser Baristan said Rhaegar was a good man who loved his people. And the people, in return, loved him.

“They shouldn’t sing such things in the presence of their queen," she said at last.

Lyanna Mormont brushed passed Ser Jorah as she and her guards headed to the stables.

“My lady Mormont,” Jorah called. He bowed deeply when his cousin turned around. “My name is –”

“I’m quite aware who you are, Ser Jorah.” Her face seemed eternally set in a scowl.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, cousin.”

“Is it.” It was a statement rather than a question. “You seem fit. Exile agrees with you. Perhaps you should have stayed."

Jorah liked to imagine he was a man of great patience. He took a deep breath and continued. “They tell me Bear Island thrives under your rule. It’s quite an impressive feat for one so young.” She did not respond. “Allow me to introduce you to the queen’s advisors. This is Lord Tyrion. And this is Lord Varys.”

Varys dipped his head in acknowledgement; Lyanna nodded back.

“My lady Mormont,” Tyrion began. “Ser Davos has told us all about your bravery. It’s a great honor to meet you.”

“What bravery is this?”

The men behind her looked like oxen, nostrils flared and brows furrowed.  One of them kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Tyrion was reluctant to turn his gaze from them, afraid they would pounce the moment his back was turned.

“During the Battle of the Bastards,” Tyrion said. “Just beyond these walls.”

“I sat on a horse and shot less than a full quiver of arrows. I hardly think that’s worth commendation.”

Tyrion shifted his gaze to Jorah and then back to Lyanna. “Well, that’s still –”

“If you wish to commend someone, Ser Allyn and Ser Bors stand just behind me. Or perhaps you should commend the sixteen Mormont warriors we lost.” She took a menacing step forward. She was only an inch or two taller than Tyrion but she seemed bigger than the Mountain.  “We reclaimed the North in the name of the Starks. Not the Targaryens.” She turned round and stalked off.

“I don’t think she’s terribly happy that we’re here,” said Tyrion.

“What in the world gave you that idea?” said Varys.

“Sammy! Sam!”

A little boy no older than three or four sped through the courtyard, a woman with dark hair and a blue cloak in hot pursuit, shouting his name all the while.

The little boy smacked his hand against Bran’s wheelchair. “I win, I win!”

“Samwell!” the woman declared. “Lord Stark is not a finish line. Apologize to him right now.”

The boy looked at his feet. “Sorry, Lord Stark.”

“I don’t mind,” Bran said, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. The boy reminded him of Rickon.

It was only then that the woman noticed the dragon queen.  “Your grace!” She fell into an inelegant curtsey. “I apologize for my son. He’s got too much energy for his own good.”

Dany smiled broadly. “It’s no bother at all. My name is Daenerys,” she said to the child. “What’s yours?”

“Sam!” he declared, puffing out his chest. “I don’t know my Mamma’s name.”

“Gilly, your grace,” the woman said with another curtsey. She nearly broke her ankle in the attempt.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Dany said.

“Gilly and Sam?” Jorah materialized beside them.

“Yes?” Gilly was still reluctant to speak to strange men. She no longer feared that someone would harm her or Little Sam – Sam had proven time and again that he would protect them – but years of living with Crastor had left its mark.

 _Don’t talk to other men,_ he would say. _You’re mine. If I see you talking to any Crows, I’ll kill you both myself. It won't be quick_.

“My name is Jorah Mormont. Your husband saved my life at the Citadel.”

“Ser Mormont!” Gilly smiled broadly. “Er, Ser Jorah! I’m glad to meet you. Sam told us all about you.”

“I thought I might introduce him to Queen Daenerys. Do you know where he is?”

“The library, of course,” Gilly said. She told them where to go.

Daenerys hadn’t stopped smiling the whole time. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Gilly. And you, Sam. I think you and I are going to be the best of friends.”

*

Jon found Sansa in the kitchens, giving orders about preparation and rations.

The kitchens weren’t properly attached to the castle. They jutted out on the eastern wall and had large dome-shaped window for ventilation. A small hallway provided a means of entrance and exit through the courtyard.

It was a practical design meant to keep smoke from filling the fortress, but it was not ideal for children sneaking in for treats in the middle of the night. The older boys were too noisy and did not possess the skill of stealth; they were caught nearly every time they tried to break in.

Arya snuck in constantly just to prove that she could. She failed as often as she succeeded, especially when Rickon insisted she take him along, but she was confident in herself. Bran was their lookout. 

Sansa was the most successful in their little raids. She’d visit the kitchen under the guise of learning to cook and left with loaves of fresh bread or cakes hidden in the flowing arms of her dress. No one suspected her, of course. She was a perfect young lady.

The seven of them all met in front of the heart tree after bedtime and shared their spoils. Sansa was always generous and happy during these meetings; it was almost the only time her siblings could stand to be around her. There were no servants or septas or even her friend Jeyne Pool. She was simply herself then.

Bran would climb the heart tree because he couldn’t resist, and Rickon tried to climb up after him. He always wanted to be like his big brothers. 

That was a long time ago.

The cooks all curtseyed and _milord’_ ed when Jon came in. “I wondered if I might have a moment alone with my sister.”

Sansa remained by one of the large tables as the servants all filed out. Jon wasn’t sure if he should approach her or not.

“She brought back lemons,” he started, quite abruptly.

“Lemons,” Sansa repeated.

“When Daenerys went to the Reach. She brought back a case of lemons for you. To thank you for hosting her. A gesture of good will.” Jon wasn’t one for words, but he seemed more nervous than usual when he spoke. He was anticipating an attack from his sister. “Tyrion suggested it. He remembered how much you like lemon cakes.”

 _Littlefinger brought me lemons_ , she thought to herself. _Look what happened to him_. “Gifts don’t mean much these days.”

Jon clenched and unclenched his jaw as he thought of what to say next. “I don’t want us to fight,” he began, trying desperately to keep his voice low. “You don’t have to see Dany. You don’t even have to speak to her if you don’t want to. I’m just asking you to be civil.”

“Dany,” Sansa repeated. The nickname left a foul taste in her mouth. “I think I’ve been perfectly civil.”

“You’ve been passively aggressive,” said Jon. “I suppose it’s better than outwardly aggressive.”

“Like I was as a child.” Sansa smiled. Jon felt his pulse in the base of his throat. “I like to think I’ve outgrown that.”

He grinned, too.

“I care about the North,” Sansa said at last. “Not a foreign queen. I care about my people.” She swallowed. “I care about _you_.”

He turned his eyes up to meet hers. His voice was thick with emotion. “If you care about me, then why do you insist on hurting me?”

*

He’d made his sister cry. She hadn’t broken down in front of him, but he saw the tears spring out, saw the knot bouncing in her throat. She left before he could apologize.

He wanted to kill something. Whatever hope he had of reconciling with her was gone now. He had made her cry. The girl he vowed to protect with his life, to never abandon. But he had abandoned her when he went to Dragonstone. She told him as much.

 _I just want to be good_. That wasn't quite true. He'd rather be left alone. But duty came first, that's what Father always said. We must put the people before ourselves.

Ned and Jon both tried to be good. They tried to do what was right. They died for it. And now it was just a matter of time before he died again.

Jon went to the crypts, the one place he knew he could be alone - no royal advisors or angry lords. No Sansa. No Dany. Just him and the dead.

Robb did not have a statue. There weren’t even bones in his stone box. But it was there, and Jon liked to think Robb was, too.

Rickon didn’t have a statue either, but at least his bones were there. Ned, of course, had both a statue and bones. It was a poor likeness of him, but at least it was something. Jon worried that without the statue, he might forget Ned’s face. He was already forgetting his brothers’.

“Jon!” Sam came storming down the stairs in a rage. He rounded the corner towards Ned Stark’s statue and came face to face with Jon Snow.

“Sam!” Jon said brightly. He moved to embrace his friend but Sam stepped away. “What is it? Is everything all right?”

He was angry. Jon had never seen him angry. His face was stained with tears but his nostrils were flared and his breath was fast.

“Would you have done it?” Sam demanded. Jon opened his mouth to speak but Sam cut him off. “Would you have burnt them alive?”

“What?”

“If you were the one in power. If you sat on the Iron Throne. What would you have done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading/commenting/etc!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff coming soon!

_Aegon Targaryen, sixth of your name . . ._

Jon fled to a part of the crypts he hadn’t been to since he was a boy, where the oldest Starks were kept.

He and Theon and Robb used to dare each other to venture in without any torchlight to aid them. Whoever got scared and went running back to sanctuary lost the game and had to empty the others’ chamber pots.

Jon and Robb always won. Robb, because he wasn’t afraid of anything – always so sure of himself, so confident. Jon won because he felt like he had to. He had to prove himself, prove that he deserved to live in Winterfell and train alongside his friends and brothers.

He sat still and remained quiet during Maestor Luwin’s lessons, even when Theon kicked him under the table and Robb flicked his ear. He had to be smart and talented and brave so he could prove to his father that he hadn’t made a mistake in taking his bastard north. Jon wanted to earn his place. He needed to.

Maybe then Catelyn wouldn’t be ashamed of him and Sansa would stop calling him her half-brother and Theon would stop calling him _bastard_ to get a rise out of him and he could sit at the head table with family during feasts and he could call Ned _father_ in public. And maybe, if he did well enough, his father would ask King Robert to make Jon his true son, a proper Stark. But he had to prove himself first.

And so Jon Snow would stand there in the darkness with Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy in the damp beside the lost Kings of the North who reigned before the Targaryens –

He clutched the cold stone wall for dear life, but it wasn’t enough. He doubled over and got sick in front of Torren Stark’s likeness. He scratched his palm on the rough stone as he fell; his blood looked black in the torchlight. He’d read somewhere that dragons’ blood was black as ink. But he wasn’t a dragon. He wasn’t a wolf, either.

It seemed to go on forever. He kept retching even after all his food and water had gone. He could hardly get a breath in. He fell to the floor when it was finally over, exhausted and raw and confused. Too overwhelmed to even cry.

“ _Fuck_!”

He didn’t realize the sound came from him at first. He could barely hear anything over the loud _whoosh_ of his blood through his ears. He hadn’t been able to stop it. He hadn’t even felt it coming.

He put his back against the wall and slid down to the floor.

 _Next time I see you, I’ll tell you all about your mother_.

His mother. He hardly knew who she was. Only that she was beautiful and willful and died in her brother’s arms in a tower in Dorne.

Dorne. Father told Jon that he was born in Dorne. That much he had been honest about.

Hours passed. He hardly noticed. He dozed off and woke back up more times than he could count.

He wanted to go back to his family’s statues and scream at them. _Why did you lie to me_? he’d ask Ned. _Do you hate me for killing your sister_? _Why wouldn’t you tell Catelyn? She didn’t ever look at me and when she did her expression made me cry_. _She hated me. I didn’t deserve to be hated_.

Robb must’ve started a thousand fights with his mother over her mistreatment of Jon. He always campaigned for Jon to sit with them at the main table or be presented in line with his siblings when guests came to visit.

And what about Lyanna – his mother? He didn’t even know where to start with her. He’d never seen her face. Hardly ever heard her name. Kings rose and fell because of her. Surely she never intended for such things to happen. Maybe she did. How would he know?

He thought of his younger siblings – his cousins now, he supposed. Would they still want him? Would they still accept him if they knew what he was? Would they still love him? Their faces flashed in his mind. Arya, Bran, Rickon, Sansa –

 _Sansa_.

He felt his pulse in the base of his throat and a bitter taste grew in the back of his mouth. These were familiar sensations that usually came before going into battle, when he had to push all rational thought away.

Would this be battle? Would his strong headed sister – _cousin_ – be angry?  He dreaded the look he imagined would come into her eyes, the sort of look Lady Catelyn used to give him, the one that made him turn his face down in shame.

And he should be ashamed. Of who he was, of what he was.

He found her in the courtyard with Lord Royce and Lady Mormont.

“. . . the elderly to Bear Island,” Mormont said. “We can’t fit them all in Winterfell’s crypts, and the dead can’t cross water.”

“How many can stay in the keep?” asked Sansa.

“Sansa!”

She turned at the sound of Jon’s voice. Her eyes widened as he came toward her. “Are you ill?”

He put his hand around her upper arm and pulled her toward the broken tower. Mormont and Royce got the hint that it was a family matter and moved along, though Lady Mormont took the time to glare at her former king as he passed by.

“Jon, what’s going on? Jon!” She whipped around, stopping him in his tracks. “I won’t go another step until you speak to me.”

“I’ll tell you everything,” he rasped. “Just – please – let us do it in private.”

Sansa wasn’t so much suspicious as cautious. She looked over her brother’s face, which was white as the snow that surrounded them. “All right. We’ll do it in private.”

He released her when they reached the broken tower and shut the door behind them, not that it did any good to keep the cold out. “I have to tell you something.” He couldn’t stand to meet her eyes. His voice was raw and his throat and eyes were sore but he had to speak. He needed to know one way or the other.

“I know who my mother is.”

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat. “Who is she?”

Jon swallowed and forced himself to meet her eyes. They were so blue and bright, just as Robb’s eyes had been. Tully eyes, just like their mother’s. They were too beautiful to even compare them to the horrifying glow of the wights’.

“Jon?” Sansa prompted, voice soft with concern. She took his hand in her own; he stared down at it for a long time. “Tell me.”

He sounded like there were lacerations in his throat when he spoke. “My mother is Lyanna Stark. My father is Aegon Targaryen.”

Perhaps for the first time in her life, Sansa was at a loss for words. She watched her brother shaking for a moment. His whole body seemed to vibrate like a leaf in the wind. And he seemed so small, so terribly small.

 “Jon.” She whispered his name before launching herself into his arms as she had at Castle Black. He had been loath to set her down. He’d kept an arm around her shoulder as he led her to the great hall. Her arms had been wrapped tightly around his waist, her tear-stained face hidden in his neck.

This embrace was just as comforting, just as true. She made him feel safe and wanted.

It took him a moment to wrap his stiff arms around her. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could and buried his face in her hair. He wanted to drown in the smell of her. The feel of her.

“It doesn’t matter who your parents were,” Sansa said breathlessly. “You’re my brother. Nothing will change that.”

The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.  “I don’t want to be your brother.”

She fell away from him slowly, rejected by the one person she thought she’d never lose. “Do you dislike me so much?”

“Lord Snow! Lady Stark!” someone called from outside. “It’s the Kingslayer! Jaime Lannister is here!”

*

“When I was a little girl, my brother told me bedtime stories. I quite liked them. Especially the ones about our home. And our father.”

Daenerys reclined in her seat. Her expression suggested a sinner had gotten to his knees before her to beg for absolution. She was a vengeful god.

“The one he told most often was about our father. And the man that murdered him in cold blood.”

Jaime opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

“Would you like to hear it? Once upon a time, there was a terrible war against the king of a great land. Many people wanted to see the king dead, but he knew he was perfectly safe so long as his loyal knights remained by his side, for they had sworn their lives to protect him. And then one day, one of these young men stopped being loyal. He stabbed his king in the back and slit his throat. Then he sat in the king’s throne to watch him bleed to death. Does that sound familiar?”

“I did what was right,” Jaime said. “I did it to protect the people of the city. He would have burned them all alive.”

“You tried to destroy my family,” Dany seethed.

“Just as he did mine,” said Sansa. Dany’s head whipped towards her. Were they actually agreeing on something? “He can’t be allowed to stay.”

“He can’t be allowed to _live_.” Dany turned to her favorite Unsullied, whom she called Torgo Nudho. Sansa heard someone say that it meant _worm_. What a horrible thing to call someone.

Dany gave him a command in Valyrian and he moved forward. Tyrion looked panicked.

“Your grace.” Brienne rose from her seat at the table and came to stand beside Jamie. “Lady Sansa. If you would allow me, I’d like to speak in Ser Jaime’s defense.”

Sansa nodded her assent. Daenerys huffed and held out her hand, indicating Brienne to continue. Jon wasn’t even aware that somebody else was talking.

“Before I served you, Lady Stark, I served your mother. She only ever asked one thing of me: to find and protect you and your sister. To that end, she tasked me with bringing Jaime Lannister back to King’s Landing to trade for your freedom. Ser Jaime’s release was conditional. In return for his freedom, he made your mother the same vow: to seek out and protect the Stark girls.”

Sansa smiled. “And what a fine job he did.”

 “We were kidnapped by Boltons on our journey to King’s Landing,” Brienne said strongly. She had Sansa’s full attention now. Had everyone’s. “They attempted to force themselves on me. All of them. Ser Jamie bargained with them. He kept them from doing what they intended.” She took a deep breath and leaned back; she hadn’t realized she had advanced toward the table as she spoke. “He lost his hand for it.”

“Ser Jamie is not known for keeping his word,” Daenerys said.

“He did keep it at best he could. When we arrived in the capital, he gave me armor and a sword. A squire and horses. So that I might find you and defend you.”

Sansa licked the inside of her lips. “You trust him, then.”

“Absolutely. And may the gods strike me down if I am wrong.”

There was a long pause.

“Do you know where your swords came from?” Sansa asked Jaime; Brienne already knew. Jaime looked down. “Your lord father Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock took my house’s ancestral sword, Ice, and melted it down. He had no claim to it while the Starks still live. By right, it belonged to Robb Stark, my father’s eldest son and the King in the North, and now by that same right it belongs to King Jon. Not to Joffrey and not to you.”

Everyone took note of the word _king_.

Sansa sighed. “Rename your sword. Ice was formed with the intention of protecting the North. Your sword will carry out its promise.” Sansa stood and left the room before the dragon queen had time to argue.

She looked to Jon for support but he averted his gaze and stalked off.

*

_He’s not your brother. He’s not your brother. He’s not your brother._

_He’s your cousin._

There wasn’t anything wrong with that. Her own grandparents were cousins, her grandmother was even born with the Stark name. there was nothing wrong with that.

Tywin Lannister fell in love with his cousin and married her. Sansa wished she didn’t have to compare her situation to theirs to make herself feel better. And now their child, the illustrious Ser Jaime Lannister, took shelter in her home with her father’s bastardized sword swinging from his hip.

She huffed in frustration and tossed her needlework onto the table. She leaned forward, putting her elbow on the table as she rubbed her temples. It seemed she had an eternal headache these days.

She thought she might go searching for Jon, but she didn’t have the energy for it now. He’d run off as soon as Ser Jaime’s hearing was over. She supposed he didn’t want to be found.

There was a knock on the door. “Come in.”

“Lady Sansa.” Daenerys Stormborn appeared in the entryway to her solar. “May I speak with you for a moment?”

Sansa stood and gestured to the seat perpendicular to her own.

Daenerys chose instead to walk through the room. “This is a fine room. Are these the Lord’s chambers?”

“Yes.”

Daenerys wanted to ask why Jon didn’t have them but thought better of it. She was here to make peace, not start another fight. She finished walking the perimeter of the room before finally approaching the table.

She noticed a wooden hoop holding taut a bit of grey fabric. There was a pattern on it, or at least the beginnings of one. Red leaves and silver veins, crawling like vines across the soft material.

Dany was astonished. “Is this yours?” Sansa nodded. “It’s beautiful.” Daenerys looked in utter disbelief. “I wish I could do that.” She shook her head. “I was never creative. And no one thought to teach me the womanly arts as a girl.” She sat down and leaned toward Sansa.

Her hostess blinked, unimpressed. “May I ask the purpose of this visit, your grace?”

Daenerys swallowed her pride and spoke. “I would like the two of us to get along.” Sansa did not reply. “We nearly agreed on something back there. I thought it was a great stride forward.”

“Brienne is a good judge of character. She has never given me a reason to doubt her. I trust her absolutely.”

“How lucky you are to have someone like that.”

“You have Ser Jorah,” Sansa said.

She managed to smile. “Yes. I have Ser Jorah.” She swallowed. “I would like us to be friends, Sansa. And if that’s not possible, I’d like to at least not fight.”

 “I’d like that, too,” Sansa conceded.

“What is it that sets us against each other?” said the queen. The look on Sansa’s face was all the reply she needed. “Your brother.”

Sansa tried to fight back her anger. “He loves you. You know that.”

Daenerys blinked as she tried to understand the look on Sansa’s face. “That bothers you?”

“Men are not terribly clever,” Sansa said. Especially her foolish, honorable brother. Cousin. “Particularly when pretty women are involved.”

“I love him.” Dany put her hand over Sansa’s. “I came to protect him and his home. To protect my people.”

“I heard you say once that the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark. The last King in the North was Jon Snow, and before him, Robb stark. They’re likely to choose another as soon as you go south.”

Daenerys frowned. “The northerners have bent the knee.”

“They haven’t,” Sansa said. “Slavers Bay is yours by right of conquest. Aegon the Conqueror ruled the Seven Kingdoms by right of conquest. The North was taken from us. And we took it back. And we swore we would never bow to a southern ruler again. It’s _ours_. By the same right that made you a queen in Essos. By the same right you expect to take half the kingdoms. It belongs to us.”

The door swung open before Daenerys had the chance to spit back at her opponent. “My lady,” the maestor said. “Your grace. There is someone here to see you both.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fluff begins.

Theon Greyjoy’s eyes darted back and forth between Sansa and Daenerys, desperately trying to figure out who to speak to first.

“Your grace,” he said, bowing his head. Sansa was already rushing towards him when he looked back up. She put her arms around his shoulders and fell into tears. “Sansa,” Theon whispered. He squeezed her tightly until she pulled back.

She sniffled and wiped her cheeks. “Theon –”

“What are you doing here?” Daenerys asked.

“I’ve come to fight for you. With you.” He turned to Sansa. “I want to protect the North. This used to be my home before . . . I want to serve your family as I should’ve done. If you’ll have me.”

Sansa started crying again. “Of course.”

*

“I set the hounds on him,” Sansa said as she and Theon sat together in the library. She was proud but not smiling. “You should’ve been here for it.”

“He’s gone now. You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

Sansa looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

He looked down, shaking his head. “I should’ve done it sooner.” He sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “I knew who he was. What he would do. I should’ve taken you away the moment you came.”

 _You’ve known Sansa since she was a girl. Now watch her become a woman_. Those words played over and over in his head every night.

Those memories frightened him the most. Cut his cock off a hundred times, put a thousand screws in his foot. Just not this. Not Sansa. Not his little sister.

Sansa put her hand over his. “It’s done. We’re home now. That’s what matters.”

Theon nodded his head. It wouldn’t ever be done for him, not really.  “I don’t know if Bran will forgive me.”

“He will. He already has.” She hesitated. “He’s changed, Theon. I don’t even know if he’s Bran anymore.”

“I wasn’t Theon,” he said. “But now I am again.”

 _Bran won’t come back to himself_ , she thought. _He knows things. He frightens me_.

*

“They love her,” Dany said. She looked through the open window of her chamber at Theon and Sansa speaking in the courtyard. “Everyone I’ve met here. They all adore her.” She was not angry. Envious, perhaps, and a bit tired.

People loved Sansa. They loved her brother. People loved Dany, too. Just not these people.

“They will love you, too,” Tyrion said. “You proved yourself to the Dothraki, the Unsullied, all of Essos when you liberated them and walked through fire. They haven’t seen that part of you yet.”

“I almost wish the dead would come,” she said, turning away from the window.

Tyrion knit his brows together. “Your grace?”

“I want to show them who I am. My people are important to me. The Northerners included.”

Tyrion smiled. “They will learn it soon enough.”

“He won’t.”

Samwell Tarly appeared at the mouth of the armory clutching his son’s hand in his own. Dany couldn’t see his expression from this far away, but she imagined it was not a joyful one.

Tyrion had cautioned her not to kill the Tarly boy, Sam’s brother – Dickon, his name was – but he wouldn’t bend the knee. She couldn’t allow a great lord to refuse her; she would lose all respect of the other great houses.

“Jon told me Sam’s father was cruel to him,” Dany said. “Threatened to kill him if he didn’t renounce his family and join the Watch.”

“My father was cruel to me, too,” Tyrion said. “And I still loved him. Even after I put a bolt through his heart. I loved him. My sister was cruel to me. And –” He cut himself off before finishing that thought.

“My brother was cruel,” Dany said softly. She hadn’t killed Viserys, but she’d let him die. She wanted him to die. But she named one of her dragons for him – one of her children. She still loved him.

Her thoughts went back to Jon. He’d lost brothers who were kind to him. Sam had too, it seemed.

“Rulers are never loved by all their people.”

She huffed. “But they are respected.”

A horn sounded outside. What remained of the wildlings and the Night’s Watch had returned.

*

“Two days,” Tormund said, itching his enormous beard. “Three if we’re lucky.”

Everyone looked to Jon for guidance but he was not in the mindset to give it. He cleared his throat. “We have our battle plans. I think we should . . . rest. For the night. Absorb the news. Get our bearings. We’ll meet back here at dawn.” His eyes flickered to Sansa and then to Daenerys. “Be with your loved ones.” His eyes were on Dany when he spoke.

Sansa’s chair scratched across the floor. Jon did not watch her as she left.  

Dany approached him with an enormous smile on her face.

“Let’s go upstairs.” He took her by the hand and led her to her rooms.

She got up on her tiptoes to kiss him as soon as the door shut behind them. “I missed you,” she whispered. She tried to force his lips open with her own but he was unresponsive. Her tongue flicked out to taste him. She grazed her teeth against his lips. Nothing. “What’s wrong?”

“I have something to tell ye,” Jon said. His Northern accent was more pronounced than usual. Perhaps he’d been spending too much time with Davos, listening to his broken King’s Landing accent. Perhaps it was nerves.

“All right.” Daenerys sat down in her chair by the fire. “What is it?”

Jon put his hands on the back of the chair across from hers. “How much do you know about Lyanna Stark?”

It was strange to say her name now. He’d only ever had a distant sort of love for and curiosity about her. Now her name tugged on his heart. She was everything to him now.

 _My mother, my mother_ , he chanted to himself.

Dany’s ears colored; her face fell. “I know that my brother did terrible things to your aunt. He stole her away, and when her family – _your_ family – came to get her back, my father burnt them for it.” She shook her head. “I know my father was a bad man. I’ve known that for a long time now. But I know almost nothing about Rhaegar.” She sighed. “Do you know of Ser Barristan? Of the Kingsguard?”

Jon flexed his fingers and then tightened them around the chair again. “I’ve heard of him.”

“He knew Rhaegar. He called him the finest man he ever met. I can’t reconcile that with what he did to your aunt.”

Jon wiped his hand down from his forehead to his beard. “She wasn’t my aunt. And Rhaegar didn’t steal her or rape her. She ran away with him. She loved him.”

Daenerys wasn’t alarmed quite yet, just cautious. “Go on.”

“He annulled his marriage to Elia Martell and married Lyanna instead. She loved him so much, she carried his baby.”

Daenerys stood up, kicking her chair to the ground. “Jon.”

“He had his knights hide her away until she gave birth.”

Dany put one hand on her forehead and the other on her churning stomach. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“Her brother Ned found her there. She made him promise to protect her baby no matter the cost. No one could know his true parentage. So Ned pretended the baby was his son.

“Jon –”

There was a lump in his throat. “And then she bled to death on her birthing bed.”

“ _Stop_!” Daenerys shouted, fire in her usually-kind eyes.

“Dany.” He stepped towards her.

“Don’t. Don’t come near me.”

“I don’t _want_ it. The name, the throne, none of it. I don’t care.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Daenerys snapped. “Get out.”

Jon turned back for a moment when he reached the door. “I’m sorry, Dany. I am.”

Dany was beautiful and smart and brave, but as much as Jon cared for her, there was always something in the back of his mind, poking at him whenever they touched or kissed. _Is this really what you want?_

Part of him was relieved to hear that they were related. The decision had been made for him.

Ghost came running up to him the moment he opened the door to his room. “Hey there, good boy.” He was so relieved to see a friendly face. Ghost didn’t care who or what Jon was; he just loved him. He rubbed his wolf behind the ears. “I missed you today. I could’ve used your help.”

Ghost went to sit before the fire, just by Sansa’s feet.

“Sansa,” Jon gasped. He didn’t realize she was there.

She was wearing her favorite gold necklace with a large circle and a long chain. Jon usually never noticed things like that.

She didn’t look away from the fire. “How are you coping?”

Jon plopped down in a chair at his table. “With what?”

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes. “The army approaching. Your parents. All of it.”

“I don’t know.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “I don’t know anything.”

Sansa’s nostrils flared. She finally looked to her brother. Cousin. Whatever he was now. “Are you going to say anything to me at all?”

Jon pressed his knuckles into the table. He was too tired for this, for any of it. “I don’t know if there is anything to say.”

“ _I don’t want to be your brother,_ ” she said ruefully, rising from her seat. “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”

He shook his head. “Sansa. I’m too tired for all this.”

She stood up and stalked over to the table to glare down at him. “We’re all going to die in two days –”

He shook his head again. “You’re not going to die.”

“We all are,” she said. “And I don’t want to go to my grave without –”

“You’re not going to die!” he shouted. Sansa fell silent as Jon averted his gaze. “You’re not going to die,” he repeated softly. “So stop saying it.”

She swallowed hard. “Why don’t you want me?” Her voice shook from the strain of holding in tears. “Tell me why, after everything we’ve gone through, why do you hate me?”

Jon looked pained as he rose from the table. “How could you think that?”

“How could I not? You come back with a dragon queen, hardly speak a word to me, and then tell me _that_. Why don’t you want to be my brother?” Tears spilled over her eyelids and down her cheeks, leaving a clear path in their wake. “Why, Jon?”

“I can’t be your brother and go on being sane,” he finally said, voice shameful and quiet.

Sansa swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

Jon caught her gaze with his own. “I love you, Sansa. Not the way a brother should love his sister.” He paused for a moment to gather his courage. “I know how we were raised, and I know what you must be thinking, but I can’t go on as I am.”

His voice didn’t tremble anymore. His hands didn’t shake. There was a sense of freedom that he hadn’t felt since he stood atop the Wall with Ygritte in his arms.

“I won’t ever touch you. I won’t even be alone with you again if that’s what you want.”

“Jon.” Sansa’s voice was somehow both soft and strong. His eyes, infinitely deep and eternally sad, were glassy with tears. “I love you. I want you.”

His heart fell out of his chest and he lost all thought. There was only the urge to touch her, to hold her, to shut out everything else. It didn’t matter that the dead were coming. It didn’t matter that the dragon queen was here. None of it. Just this. Just them.

Jon tried to be gentle with his kiss but Sansa was ravenous. She pressed herself against him so hard he had to step back to keep from falling over. He was relieved, though: He didn’t need to be cautious. Sansa wasn’t afraid.

He put his hand under her chin and gently pulled her jaw down to open her mouth. She wasn’t a good kisser – she had little experience; most of her kisses had been rough and unwanted – but she was eager and sweet. And Jon could teach her.

She followed his lead with total confidence. She mimicked the way his tongue darted in and out of her mouth, the way he held her lower lip between his teeth. She nearly lost her mind when his lips trailed down to her neck.

Her breathing was ragged, painful. Her back arched against him.

“ _Sansa_.” He whispered her name against her skin, hot breath sliding over her throat. She whimpered and writhed under his touch. He held her as tightly as he could without hurting her.

The kiss slowed and softened as the two of them fought to regain their breath.

Jon needed air more than she did. He pulled away but kept his forehead pressed against hers. Both their heads were spinning.

“Please don’t go,” Sansa whispered breathlessly.

“I won’t.” Jon didn’t know exactly what he was agreeing to, but it didn’t matter. Sansa wanted him. He was entirely at her mercy. “I’ll stay,” he whispered. “I’ll always stay.”


	5. Chapter 5

_“I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that it had to happen here, in our home. It was so beautiful that night. Snow falling, just like now.”_

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what she was hearing. This wasn’t Bran. He hadn’t been there. He couldn’t know.

She didn’t want to think about that night. She couldn’t. If she did, it would all come back, ever bit of it.

_“And you were so beautiful. In your white wedding dress.”_

No. No. No. No. No. Not this, not again. She could feel the burning heat of his skin again, the sting of his knife entering her body, the sensation of being torn open inside . . .

 _Please. Please not this_.

“Sansa!”

She woke up crying. She didn’t know where she was at first, who was in the bed with her. _Please, please, please,_ she chanted. _Not him_.

The bed shifted as the man moved to hover over her. He sounded afraid. “Sansa. Sansa, it’s all right. Wake up.” His hand was on her cheek, fingers desperately brushing away the tears. “Wake up.”

Sansa finally managed to pry her eyes open. There was a pair of big doe-brown eyes staring down at her. They were framed by scars and curly dark hair. Not Ramsay. Someone brave and gentle and strong. Someone who loved her.

Sansa managed to draw a breath in through her sobs. “Jon!” She locked her arms around his shoulders, tighter than any rope or chain.

“It’s all right,” he said again. He didn’t even have to pull her into his lap as he sat up; her trembling body moved with his. He wrapped one arm around his waist and used his free hand to pet her tangled hair. “It’s all right. You’re safe. They’re all gone. Anyone who has ever tried to hurt you is gone.”

He felt helpless as she shook in his arms.

 _“I won’t ever let him touch you again,_ ” he’d said. “ _I’ll protect you, I promise_.”

“ _No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone_.”

He now felt that helplessness he had when she first spoke those words. All he could do was hold her tight and repeat the same words over and over again. _You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe_.

It took long minutes for Sansa to run out of tears. She still sniffled and shook in Jon’s arms, but she knew where she was now. She knew she was safe.

“I’m sorry,” she managed. She hadn’t loosened her grip on Jon and he hadn’t loosened his grip on her.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmured. He kissed her head and stroked her hair for a long moment. “I didn’t know the nightmares were this bad,” he said softly.

Jon was still in his tunic and breeches, Sansa in her nightgown. It was tied over her chest with pretty pink ribbons. It reminded him of when she was a child. It relieved him, too. Sansa still liked pretty things. That was a part of her that no one could take away.

They didn’t do anything other than kiss before they fell asleep in each other’s arms last night. Jon hadn’t expected anything more. Sansa would likely need time before she could share that part of herself with him, time they didn’t have. Still, he wouldn’t ask her to do something she wasn’t ready for.

His body didn’t understand that. When Jon slept, he was like a bolder – unmovable. Sansa, though, wiggled every once in a while. Once or twice, her backside rubbed against the front of Jon’s breeches, and he had to grit his teeth and pray he wouldn’t get hard.

“They used to be worse,” Sansa said. “The nightmares.” She tried to release him, but he held onto her. “It helps having Ghost here when I wake up.”

“I’ve never heard you,” Jon said, knitting his brows. “I’m just down the hall and I never heard.”

Sansa finally extricated herself from his grip and hopped off the bed. She smoothed her hair behind her back and walked over to the wash basin. “I usually cry on Ghost’s shoulder. I don’t think he likes it, but he’s very patient.”

Jon continued frowning as he watched her. “You should’ve come and got me. You shouldn’t be alone when that happens.”

She shook her head slightly. “It’s all right. I’m strong, Jon. You don’t have to worry about me falling apart.”

“I know you’re strong,” he said. “I just don’t want you to be strong alone.”

There was a knock at the door. Brienne’s voice came through. “Lady Sansa, there’s to be a meeting regarding the strategy for the battle.”

“I’ll be down soon,” Sansa called back.

“Have you seen Jon Snow?” she asked. Brienne referred to him exclusively by his full name. It didn’t feel right to call him Lord Snow, and he wasn’t His Grace or King in the North anymore.

Sansa looked his way and smirked. “I’m sure he’s just caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and got waylaid. He’ll be along soon.”

Jon tried to look indignant; Sansa bit her lip and blushed to keep from laughing.

*

The meeting took place in the library. They spread the map out over the reading table, gently moving the books that were there to sit on top of the mantle. They were Sam’s books, of course. He’d been reading some four different stories when he heard that the dragon queen was on her way.

He passed Dany and Jon on his way out of the room; he didn’t regard either one of them. He knew if he even said _hello,_ he’d start ranting and raving and crying, not just at Daenerys but at Jon, too, for defending her. The friends hadn’t spoken since Sam’s revelation. It was unclear who was avoiding whom.

The war council consisted of just about everyone Arya had met since coming back to Winterfell – Brienne, Daenerys, Tormund the wildling, Grey Worm, and more. Missandei of Naath, who seemed to be eternally at her queen’s hip, translated back and forth for the Unsullied and Dothraki present.  

Arya lived in Braavos for a long while, and she encountered many people of different sizes and colors, so she wasn’t shocked like the other Northerners when the Unsullied took of their helmets, or when Missandei glided through a room with her hair done about her like a halo.

The wildlings seemed to be beyond surprise at this point. They climbed the Wall, fought the dead, survived the darkest winters. What did it matter what the Essos people looked like? Either they fought the dead or they didn’t. it was as simple as that.

Tormund was fixated on the few Dothraki horse lords that attended the meeting. “Why do they wear braids?” he asked through his mouthful of carrot. “They look like ladies.”

No one translated his comment.

Edd dragged Sam back into the room, whispering furiously. He deposited his friend at a corner of the table far from Jon and Dany.

Sansa stood beside Jon, her hands folded behind her back as she listened to him explain the importance of killing the Night King. “I think they have a hive mind.”

Tormund was unimpressed. “What?”

Jaime flared his nostrils and took a deep breath. “Hive, like a bee hive. Do you have bee hives north of the Wall?”

Tormund grunted in the affirmative.

“They all do whatever the queen wants them to. They move as one.”

“There’s another queen?!” Tormund gasped.

Davos snickered; he was the only one to understand Tormund’s joke.

“I understand,” the wildling clarified. “Thank you, blondie.”

Jon cleared his throat and continued. “If we take him down, the others will likely fall, too.”

“How do you expect to get to him?” Jaime asked.

“We lure him out,” Bran said. “He’s marked me. He knows where I am at all times. Wherever I go, he will come for me.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“Because I’m the Three-Eyed Raven.” His statement was followed by a long silence as everyone waited for Bran to explain exactly what that meant. He did not.

“You’ll stay in the crypt with Sansa and Ghost,” Jon said dismissively. Sansa hadn’t intended to stay in the crypts; she wasn’t a fighter, but she refused to run screaming when her people were in danger. She decided not to bring that up just yet.

“I’ll wait for him in the Godswood,” Bran said.

“We’re not using you as bait; you’re our brother,” Sansa said.

“I’m not leaving you alone out there,” added Arya.

“I’ll stay with him,” Theon said. He did not avert his eyes and his voice did not quake when he spoke. “And the Ironborn. I took this castle from you. Let me defend it for you now. Let me defend _you_.”

Bran nodded his assent; Sansa squeezed Jon’s forearm. Her brother and her savior would be vulnerable, exposed. Not to mention that Arya and Jon would be fighting in the mud with all the others.

Arya noticed the way her sister clutched her brother under the table. They wanted to hide their affection for some reason.

Theon noticed too.

“Ser Davos will wave the torches as a signal,” Daenerys said. Sansa relinquished her grip on Jon.

“I will, too,” Tyrion said.

“Forgive me for my ignorance, but I don’t believe waving a torch around is a task that requires two men,” said Daenerys. Tyrion clenched his jaw and looked down. “You will be in the crypts where it’s safe. The survivors will have great need of your mind. I won’t risk it by letting you stand on the battlements.”

Tyrion dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“We need to stay close to Bran,” Jon said after a moment of pause. “Not too close or the Night King won’t come, but close enough to be there when he arrives.”

“Dragon fire will kill him?” Arya asked Bran.

“I don’t know,” he said. Many of the people at the table attempted not to roll their eyes. Wasn’t this boy meant to be all-knowing? “No one’s ever tried before.”

“We’re all going to die,” Tormund said. He fixed his gaze on Brienne. “We must enjoy our last night in the world.”

Jon cleared his throat. “Let’s all get some rest while we can.” Most of the group filtered out except for Dany and Jon. She advanced toward him, whispering his name, but he drew back. “Your grace.” He bowed his head and took his leave.

Tyrion watched the awkward interaction before turning to Bran.  He pulled a chair over to the fire. “I’d like to hear your story.”

*

Sansa had great difficulty sitting still. Jon hadn’t sought her out, Arya had snuck off to the armory, and Bran was still in the library. She sat outside with Theon, squeezing and loosening her grip on his hand over and over.

“Sansa,” Theon said. “It’s no use worrying.” He put his free hand over hers. “We have to trust that people know what they’re doing.”

“But they _don’t_ know,” Sansa said. “That’s the problem.”

“Jon and Beric fought them. And the wildlings and the Night’s Watch, too.” He leaned forward. “It’ll be all right, Sansa. You escaped Joffrey, you killed Ramsay, you outsmarted Littlefinger. The Night King can’t be worse than all them.”

Sansa managed to smile. She embraced him, resting her chin on top of his shoulder. “You survived Ramsay, too,” she reminded him. “You’ve got nothing to be afraid of, either.”

*

Jon couldn’t find Arya. Bran had finished talking with Tyrion, but his eyes had rolled back in his head, so he wouldn’t be much use in the way of conversation.

He wanted to find Sansa, but something stopped him. A rock in his stomach. People needed him to be strong now. He knew he’d fall apart if he saw her. Try to take her and Bran and Arya and Tormund and as many women and children as possible. He’d set them on Rhaegal’s back and send them as far south as south goes.

He wanted his family to _live_. He wanted his friends to _live_. “ _A man protects his family_ ,” Father always said.

But Ned had failed at that. He lost his head in King’s Landing, leaving Sansa a prisoner and Arya a fugitive. Robb had failed, too. He watched his wife die, watched a man stab their baby through her belly.

Jon was the only one left now. But he’d failed, too. Rickon died in front of him, only a few feet away, an arrow through his heart. Maybe Arya would do a better job of looking after the family than he could. He didn’t care, so long as the people he loved survived.

He stood before Lyanna Stark’s statue, studying each detail carved into the stone. Rhaegar failed to protect his family, too, he supposed. His wife, Elia Martell, was raped and strangled. His children by her murdered violently, their heads broken against a stone wall.

 _Aegon Targaryen, sixth of your name_. Elia Martell’s son was called Aegon, too. Strange. Perhaps Rhaegar sought to erase his former life – his wife, his children. All for Lyanna Stark.

Rhaegar was selfish, he decided. Jon was not.

 _Duty is the death of love,_ Maester Aemon once said. Not for Rhaegar.

Jon decided he didn’t care at all about the man who sired him. He was dishonorable. Eddard Stark, Jon’s _real_ father, taught him that honor was everything.

*

As daylight drew closer, soldiers began to cluster in their positions. The Dothraki’s horses paced around in circles as the riders practiced swinging their curved blades. The Northerners stomped their feet to keep warm. The wildlings told each other dirty jokes to keep their spirits high. Both the Northerners and wildlings passed around goblets of wine and flasks of clear spirits.

Only the Unsullied seemed calm. They stood in perfect formation, backs straight, weapons up. They didn’t even shiver at the cold.

Sansa barely kept herself from weeping when Theon left her. She clutched him tight and willed him to survive. He kissed her head and rocked her back and forth. His eyes were misty when the embrace broke.

“Jon’s a good man,” he said. “He’ll look after you better than I ever could.”

Sansa was truly confused. Did he mean Jon could look after her as a brother looked after his sister? Or a way a husband would?

Arya and Sansa stood atop the parapets, surveying the half-drunken army below. Sansa was particularly focused on the Unsullied.

“Some people say they don’t feel pain,” Arya said to her sister, clearly impressed. “That’s a good sort of army to have fighting for you.”

“What about the Dothraki?” Sansa asked. “What do you know about them?”

“Nothing, really. I never made my way to the Grass Sea.”

“Do you think you’ll go one day?” Sansa turned her head away from the rumble below to look at her sister. “When this is all over?”

Arya smiled slightly at the idea there would be something after the war. “Maybe. I’d rather go west. See something no one else has ever discovered.”

“I’d rather just stay in Winterfell,” Sansa said. “I think I’ve had my fill of traveling.”

They smiled at each other. Sansa reached down and squeezed her sister’s hand.

*

Theon and the other Ironborn formed a loose perimeter around Bran and the Heart Tree. They pulled on their bowstrings, counted their arrows – anything they could to keep their minds occupied.

Theon was crouched at the edge of the pond, flicking at the water. Could the Drowned God be there, just below the surface?

“I don’t know why you’re afraid,” Bran said. Theon looked over his shoulder at him. “You’ve been through far worse than death.”

“Is that one of the things you’ve seen?” Theon asked. “What happened with Ramsay Bolton?”

“I’ve seen everything that’s ever happened,” Bran replied. “What he did to you. What he did to Sansa. What he did to all the people who came before. What people like him have done.” Theon chewed the inside of his lip. “He wasn’t a good man,” Bran continued. “But you are.”

Theon swallowed. “I’m sorry, Bran. For everything I’ve ever done. You were my brother. I betrayed you to win the love of a man who hated me. He wasn’t truly my father.”

Bran said simply, “I have to go now.”

“What? Where?”

But Bran’s eyes had already rolled back in his head, blinding him to the world around him.

Theon surveyed his men. “What’s dead may never die.”

“What is died may never die,” they replied, fists over their hearts.

Bran’s eyes were still white when he spoke again. “He is here.”

*

“I thought I might find you here,” Dany said. She walked over to Jon’s side and wrapped her arms around him. He did not look away from the statue before him.

Other people had started filtering into the crypts but he seemed not to notice them.

“Jon.” Dany’s voice was soft. She put her hand on his cheek and turned his face towards her. “Please talk to me.” She looked back and from his lips to his eyes. “Nothing has to change between us.” She leaned forward to kiss him, but he pulled away.

“Dany,” he said softly. “I can’t.”

“You can,” she insisted. “We aren’t doing anything wrong.” Her violet eyes softened more than he thought possible. “I love you, Jon.”

Part of him was relieved when the sound of horns interrupted their conversation.

Once.

_One blast for rangers returning._

Twice.

_Two blasts for wildlings._

And a third time.

 _Three blasts for White Walkers_.

The army had come.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Long Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I jumped around a lot in this chapter because that battle scene was way too intense and I couldn't keep up.

Jon found his girls on the parapets. He kissed their foreheads and encircled them with his arms. “Be safe.” He stepped away from them to address Arya. “Don’t try to be a hero. That’s how people end up dead.”

Arya seemed entertained by his comment. “ _Valar morgulis_ ,” she said. “All men must die.”

Sansa grabbed Jon’s hand and squeezed. Her eyes were wide, pleading. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

Jon lifted her gloved hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Be safe,” he said again.

*

“Don’t fight,” Ser Jorah said. “Go to the crypts. Be safe. Preserve our name.”

“I will not cower in darkness as my men risk their lives,” Lyanna spat back. “I will fight for my people. I will fight for the North.”

There were a pair of stern-faced soldiers behind her as always – Ser Allyn and Ser Brodick. Jorah thought loyalty of the Islanders to their lady was staggering.  They had been fiercely loyal to his father, Jeor, while he was lord, but they never showed such affection to Jorah. He didn’t deserve it in the end.

“You are the future of House Mormont,” Jorah continued. “You and I are the only two left.”

“You don’t need to remind me of that. Your father fought to defend the North from the white walkers. My mother died in service of King Robb. I will honor them both by fighting for my queen against the dead.”

Jorah was shocked. “Your queen? You’ve accepted Daenerys?”

Lyanna bristled; her men tensed. “I know no queen but the Queen in the North whose name is Stark.” She turned to leave but hesitated a moment. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.”

*

Jon encountered Tormund as he walked through the castle gates.

They sized each other up for a moment before Tormund grabbed his friend’s cheeks and kissed him hard. “Mwah!”  He patted, or more accurately slapped, Jon’s face. His breath was thick with the smell of that sour milk he loved so much. “My little crow! All grown up!”

Jon couldn’t hide the smile on his face. “You’re drunk.”

“The drunkest,” Tormund replied, and elegantly belched in Jon’s face. “If we survive this, I’m going to marry the big lady and put a thousand babies in her belly.”

Jon chuckled. “I’m sure you will.”

“And you’ve got to put a baby in your woman’s belly, too.”

Jon balked. “What?”

But Tormund was already stumbling down the stairs to get to his position on the battlefield

*

Dany was already on Drogon’s back by the time Jon found her. She and the dragon were both restless, anxious to begin the fight. Rhaegal stayed low to the ground, whipping his tail back and forth as if to strike some imaginary foe.

Both the dragons and their mother gave him a look of displeasure. Jon ignored it.

Dany had explained to him how to get the dragon to move one way or another, but it was easier said than done.

He wished now that he had a saddle or stirrups or reins – anything at all to help him maintain control of the animal. But dragons were not meant to be controlled and neither was their mother.

Drogon made a noise like a battle cry as Dany straightened her back. “Be alert,” she said to Jon. “Don’t get too caught up with trying to control him. Rhaegal knows what to do.”

*

The dead waited patiently in a perfect battle formation. The storm clouds seemed to follow them, clearly marking their perimeter. Sansa couldn’t see much through the snow and the darkness, but what she could see terrified her.

Grey and brown forms with sinister glowing eyes. Men and women, even children, lined up like pins, waiting to be knocked down. Only they were going to do the knocking down.

There were horses, too, in various states of decay. Each had an identical rider with sunken blue skin and white hair.

Sansa instinctively backed away. There were at least a hundred thousand of them. Against what? Twenty-thousand living? Less?

Arya looked at her sister’s profile. Sansa barely batted an eye when it came time to kill Littlefinger. She’d outwitted him and even convinced Arya of her false motives. She was fearless. She was a fighter. Just not in combat.

The Dothraki’s swords suddenly burst into light. “The Red Woman,” Sansa said quietly.

*

Theon swirled his spear around in dizzying circles. He hadn’t been in a great many battles, just enough to know that the worst part of it was waiting.

He didn’t know what to expect from the Walkers, what they would look like. Only that they had electric eyes, like a shock of blue lightning, and that they “look dead.”

That was the description Tormund had given his allies. _They look dead_.

Theon had seen dead people before. People he killed himself. People he watched die. He expected it would no longer bother him by now, after everything he’s seen, but it only made things worse.

He thought of the farm boys he killed. He’d done it as fast as he could and without either of them knowing what was coming. They were terrified in their last moments.

The people Ramsay kill . . . They were joyful when their hearts stopped beating. Their skin peeled off, their bellies ripped open by dogs. Death was a mercy for them.

He thought in particular of a bed-warmer Ramsay favored. Until she got pregnant, at least. That was the first hunt Theon was invited to. Ramsay’s dogs tore apart the mother of his child.

What sort of man would harm a woman carrying a child? His own child?

No. Sansa was right. There was nothing worse than Ramsay Bolton. Not even the dead.

*

The Dothraki drove forward, into the storm, shrieking as they urged their horses on. They disappeared once they reached the mist. The fire from their arakhs was the only thing visible now. The screams began to die down until there was nothing but silence.

One by one, the lights from the swords went out.

Sansa stepped back again.

“Go to the crypts,” Arya said.

“I’m not abandoning my people,” she spat back.

“The ones in the crypts are your people, too,” Arya said. “They need you.” She produced an obsidian dagger and held it out to her sister. “Stick ‘em with the pointy end.” She turned to Ghost and indicated Sansa with her head. “Off you go.”

*

Sansa been in this situation before, back in King’s Landing when Stannis’s fleet lay siege to the city. Dozens of women were locked in a fortified chamber, waiting to see whether or not they would die. Battle certainly wasn’t pleasant, but neither was the fear of the unknown.

She remembered Cersei in a gown with a bodice like a breastplate, pouring glass after glass of wine down her throat. She did not attempt to comfort her guests as a good queen might.

_If they get in here, I’m afraid we’ll all be in for a bit of a rape_. She’d smiled. _You’ll be glad for your red flower then_.

At least the White Walkers didn’t want to rape her. Death didn’t seem so bad compared to what she’d endured at Ramsay Bolton’s hands. But the women and children in the crypts were no less afraid, no less in need of comfort.

Sansa did what she had in King’s Landing to distract the others: She began to sing. “ _He lifted her high in the air, he sniffed and roared and held her there_.” She gestured for Varys and Tyrion to sing, too; stammering, they took up the song. “ _She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair, but he licked the honey from her hair_.”

The other women joined in. Even the wildlings knew the song. “ _From there to here, from here to there, all black and brown and covered with hair. From there to here, from here to there, the bear, the bear, and the maiden fair_.”

*

Sansa did her best not to think of what was happening outside – Arya, Theon and Bran, Jon – it would be too much to bear. And she had to bear it. For the good of her people.

Ghost laid on the ground and let the children pet and squeeze him. Tyrion told stories of Robert Baratheon’s grand coronation and all the great tourneys he’d been to. Missandei spoke about Naath, which none of the Northerners had ever heard of. She tried to describe the clear blue water and sandy beaches, but most of the people had never even seen the ocean before. Sansa told stories of her ancestors in front of their statues.

Sansa sat by Tyrion as they watched Varys tell stories of the Red Keep and the Iron Throne. “It’s terribly uncomfortable, you know,” he said. “The blades are still sharp. They pick and poke anyone who sits upon them.”

Sansa radiated serenity and joy. She acted like the hostess of a grand ball. She laughed openly and often. She let the children play with her impossibly long hair, tying all sorts of strange knots.

The only sign of her distress was her hands, clutched together in her lap. No matter what she did, they wouldn’t stop shaking.

“You’re quite good at this,” Tyrion said. “You’re a born politician.”

“I’d rather be something else,” she said.

He looked at her for a long moment. “I think perhaps we should have stayed married.” He chanced a look at her.

Sansa looked back.

“ _He’s rather handsome_ ,” Margaery said.

“ _I won’t share your bed. Not until you want me to_.”

He was always good to her. Always kind. She had no doubt that he would be again. And it would be easy to be with him. Enjoyable, even. But she couldn’t love him. He wasn’t Jon.

“It wouldn’t work between us.”

His nostrils flared and he averted his eyes. He was hurt. “Why not?”

“The dragon queen,” Sansa said. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Easily believable. “Your divided loyalties would become a problem.”

Tyrion was frustrated but no longer hurt. She was right, of course. He didn’t flatter himself that she loved him, but they got along. They could be happy together.

“Yes, the dragon queen is the problem,” Missandei snapped. “And without her, we’d all be dead.”

_We’ll all be dead soon anyway_ , Sansa thought.

*

The clouds were too thick. Jon could hear Drogon and Viserion roaring at each other, but he couldn’t see the flames from their mouths. Rhaegal stalled in the air, unsure of where to go or what to do.

He screamed for his brothers, though Jon tried to shut him up.

It was too late.

Viserion appeared above them, wings spread wide as he tumbled down in a free fall. Rhaegal didn’t quite get away in time; the other dragon’s body bumped his wing, making Rhaegal veer sharply to the side.

Jon could hardly hang on.

But Viserion didn’t stop to finish his work, didn’t screech or claw as he fell through the cloud bank. There was a great sound as he hit the ground below.

Jon urged his dragon downwards until he could see through the dark clouds and thick snow.

The Night King was waiting patiently for him amidst a sea of bodies. What was left of Viserion’s corpse lay behind him, belly up. His guts stretched out around him; there was a great gash from his neck to his tail. What was left of his neck, at least. Drogon had snapped his brother’s head clean off.

The Night King put his hands on his hips and looked up expectantly at Jon.

“Down!” Jon roared. He wracked his mind for the Valyrian commands Dany had taught him. “ _Ilgan! Ilgon! Ilagon_!”

Jon must’ve guessed correctly, for the beast swooped down to the battlefield.

They were set upon by Wights before Jon had the chance to climb down.

Rhaegal roared and bucked on his hind legs, sending Jon flying to the ground. He managed to grab his sword before the dragon shot straight up in a dizzying corkscrew motion, sending the wights on his back flying to the ground, their frail bodies splitting apart and landing in a thousand different places.

There was a throbbing pain in Jon’s side where he’d hit the ground. He wrapped an arm around himself and limped forward. He was only a few feet away when the King raised his arms.

                                                                                         *

“ _The Dornishman’s wife was as fair as the sun, her kisses were warmer than spring. But the Dornishman’s blade was made of black steel, and its kiss was a terrible thing_.”

The group in the crypt were running low on joyful songs – Jenny of Oldstones, though beautiful, did not inspire much hope – and had thus resorted to more ribald tunes.

Sansa turned the obsidian dagger around in her hands. It looked ancient – it _was_ ancient, she supposed – and quite thin and frail. It looked as though it would break in half if she even held it the wrong way.

“What’s that?” Tyrion had been pacing in half-circles ever since his wine ran out. He’d periodically turn his head to check on Sansa and Varys, who urgently needed to visit the water closet.

“Dragon glass,” Sansa said. She held her palm open for Tyrion’s inspection.

Tyrion picked it up and began to examine it. “Why did they give one to you but not me?”

“Arya,” Sansa explained. “I haven’t the faintest idea how to use it, but having it makes me feel a bit better.”

“ _Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done, the Dornishman’s taken my life. But what does it matter, for all men must die, and I’ve tasted the_ –”

Ghost growled low in his throat and sprang to his feet. Everyone scooted back a bit. The wolf, which had been gentle as a lamb before, was now a snarling beast.

“Ghost,” Sansa called. “What’s wrong?”

All at once the stone boxes broke open; skeletons emerged from within. Without a thought, Tyrion grabbed Sansa’s hand and pulled her into Robb’s alcove.

The women’s shrieks were deafening as they mingled with the raspy growls of the living dead.

Jon warned her that the Night King could reanimate the dead – that’s how he got his army, after all – but it never occurred to them that the decaying bodies in the crypts might be brought back.

_Oh, gods. The bodies_.

Sansa’s grandfather Rickard, Uncle Brandon, Aunt – poor Jon’s departed mother – Lyanna, her father, her baby brother – they were among them. Her family, people whom she loved, were now the agents of something else entirely. Sansa didn’t know if they would recognize her, but she doubted it would matter. They’d still tear her apart.

She and Tyrion sat on the ground, their backs pressed against the cold stone of Robb’s empty casket. Even in death, her big brother protected her.

She wanted him here, alive, at home, where he ought to be. But his bones were at the bottom of a river somewhere, mixed in with those of his pregnant wife and his mother.  

Robb had known all along that Joffrey was bad news. He told Sansa as much the day the royal party arrived, and every day after until she left. But she didn’t listen, she never listened and, in the end he didn’t, either.

Tyrion pulled her out of her thoughts by gently squeezing her hand. She turned her face to him. He did not look afraid. Resigned, perhaps. Sad. His misty eyes were gentle as they looked back into hers.

He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss against it.

Tears started pouring out of Sansa’s eyes. She stifled the sound of her sobs by biting down on her lip so hard she drew blood. And still Tyrion kept her gaze.

Ghost whimpered in pain as the dead continued to claw at him. The last direwolf was about to die, and the Stark bloodline with it.

*

Jon could hardly keep his arms raised as he slashed through the dead surrounding him. He could hear Dany crying out in the distance. She was still alive.

He couldn’t hear Theon. He couldn’t hear Bran.

Perhaps Arya would get away; she moved like a shadow. Perhaps she would run down to the crypts and rescue Sansa.

Sweet Sansa. With her blue eyes and red hair and awful temper.  He remembered how it felt to hold her, to kiss her. The way their bodies melded together.

He had to believe she would survive.

Jon knew there was no point in fighting anymore. He couldn’t win. He could hardly stay on his feet. Black spots clouded his vision. Blood dripped down his arms and onto his hands so he couldn’t get a firm grip on Longclaw.

He let the tip of the blade fall to the ground and shut his eyes.

The Lord of Light had brought him back for nothing.

_“You fight for as long as you can. You clean up as much of the shit as you can.”_

_“I don’t know how to do that. I thought I did . . . I failed.”_

There was a sound like shattering glass that drowned out everything else, even the screams of the dead.

_“Good. Now go fail again_.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst

There was something cold as wet on Jon’s face, nudging his cheek. When that didn’t work, the thing nudged his shoulder. There were whimpers, too, and the god-awful smell of dog’s breath and coppery blood.

“Ghost,” he rasped out. The wolf barked as Jon slowly opened his eyes.

The wolf’s white fur was splattered with blood; one of his ears was missing. But he was alive. And he was more concerned about his master than himself.

A sharp pain shot through Jon’s side when he raised his hand to pet the wolf. “Tough old beast.”

Jon lay on his side in the snow. The dead bodies around him were properly dead. All the not-properly dead had disappeared.

It took him a long time to come back to himself. The ringing in his ears was slowly replaced with cries. The numbness from the cold replaced by the stinging of cuts.

He managed to pull himself to his feet, leaning on Ghost for assistance. He moved as fast as he could toward the Godswood. “Bran! Bran!”

Fifteen or twenty Ironborn lay dead in a half-circle around the heart tree. He saw Theon among them.

Bran sat just behind his corpse, face expressionless. Arya knelt before him.

Bran blinked. “Jon.”

“Jon!” Arya launched herself at her brother, nearly knocking him to the ground. “Bran told me. I don’t care. You’re still my brother.”

“What?”

“He told me about Lyanna. About Rhaegar. It doesn’t matter.”

Jon nodded. He didn’t have it in him to talk about his parents right now. He couldn’t even get his thoughts together.

“What happened?”

“Arya stabbed him through the heart,” Bran said simply. “They’re all gone now.”

“Gone,” Jon repeated. That word triggered something in him. He went rigid. “Where’s Sansa?”

“I haven’t seen her,” Arya said.

“She’s all right. Just shaken,” Bran said. “The Night King brought back the bodies in the crypts. Ghost battled them; that’s how he got hurt.”

“But Sansa’s all right?”

As if in answer to his question, she came running towards them. “Bran! Arya! Jon!” She lifted her skirts to keep from tripping, and only then did she notice the Ironborn littering the ground.

“Sansa, don’t!” Arya shot forward to block her sister’s path, but it was too late.

Sansa’s knees gave out beneath her as she cried out in anguish. She collapsed onto her friend's cold body.

Jon surged towards her. “Sansa. Sansa.” He was still too shocked and tired to think deeply. He knew that his family was alive. He knew that Theon was dead. He knew that Sansa was suffering.

He tried to pull her away from Theon’s body but he was still weak and she fought against him. “Please, please. Theon.”

Arya helped turn Sansa away from the carnage before her. She slumped into Jon's arms.

“Theon.”

*

The Unsullied seemed never to tire. As the other survivors stumbled back into the castle, the soldiers collected the bodies.

Half the survivors fell asleep right away, exhausted, still afraid. The other half were just as tired, but they were too wound up to sleep. They were rigid, eyes wide, ready for another attack.

Jon carried Sansa into her chambers with Arya close on his heels. Sansa was half-asleep but still crying softly. She wouldn’t let go of Jon’s jerkin when he tried to set her down.

“It’s all right. We’ll all stay together tonight,” Arya assured her.

Bran had elected to remain by the Heart Tree rather than come inside.  Arya tried to convince him to come in with them for a long time before giving up.

Arya didn’t even remove her shoes before climbing to bed beside her sister. She stroked her hair and shushed her, promising that everything would be all right in the morning. They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, Ghost at their feet. Jon sat in a chair by the fireplace to keep watch over them; he could clearly see both the door and the window in case something came in.

He woke himself up several times in the night to check on his family. Sansa and Arya lay on their sides, Sansa curled around Arya like a mother curled around her child.

Jon cleaned Ghost’s wounds with a damp rag; the dog remained at the foot of the bed. “You did good, boy. You’re all done fighting now. I won’t bring you along to the next one.”

*

The castle hardly moved before the sun reached its zenith. The Unsullied had crafted multi-level pyres and laid the bodies of the fallen atop them.

They knew which bodies belonged together based on their dress: Edd with those in black, Lyanna with her bears, Theon with the other krakens. They stood in a straight perimeter around the pyres, lit torches in hand.

Daenerys and Sansa each wept over the bodies of their protectors.

Dany never told Jon about her relationship with Jorah, just that he helped orchestrate her marriage to Khal Drogo and contracted Greyscale, which Sam somehow cured.

Jon didn’t weep over Jorah’s body, didn’t even shed a tear for the man. But he was Jeor Mormont’s son. Jeor treated Jon like a son and perhaps that made him Jorah’s brother.

He was already Theon’s brother, though he didn’t weep for him, either. Nor did he weep for young Lyanna Mormont, who died killing a giant. A heroic death for a heroic girl.

Jon recited the same words he heard the Lord Commander say so long ago. “We will never see their like again.”

*

Arya disappeared once again, likely with that blacksmith she favored. Bran stayed beside his tree.

Jon found Sansa in her office, frantically sorting through papers. She didn’t look up when he came in.

“House Umber is dead; House Mormont is dead. The Glovers are likely dead, too. I think we ought to start giving the lands and titles to those who fought for us.”

“Sansa.”

“The food stores are holding up. We lost half our people; we’re back down to the numbers I originally accounted for. Not the dragons, of course, but the Targaryen will be leaving once the snows clear enough for her armies to march. Hopefully in a month.”

“Sansa.”

“Perhaps we should send a party to investigate Deepwood Motte. They must’ve had food stores if they were planning to winter there. That would benefit us greatly.”

“Sansa.”

“ _Please_ , Jon.” Sansa shut her eyes and clutched the table. “If you aren’t going to help me, there’s no point in you being here. Please go.”

“Sansa –”

“Please, Jon, just go.”

She couldn’t talk about it, about any of it. One tear, one single tear, would become a flood. Her father and brother’s bones springing to life to tear her apart, kissing Joffrey’s sword, leaving the Vale with her hair colored black. Even Lady executed on the King’s Road.

She couldn’t let any of it out. Ever.

*

It would be silent if not for the clink of cutlery and swish of wine. Some people murmured to each other, but they didn’t say much. Yesterday’s events hung heavy in the air. No one could think of what to say or do.

A pair of knights near the back of the hall rose from their seats and approached the great table.  “Lady Stark,” one of them said. His skin was golden, his hair and beard a subtle red-brown. His lips were full. Handsome.

Sansa adjusted herself in her seat. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, including Jon ad Dany. “Yes?”

“Our brave lady, Lyanna Mormont, has fallen. So too has the house we’ve sworn our lives to,” said the knight. “It was an honor to be by her side. We wish now for the honor of standing by yours.”

Sansa’s eyes widened in shock for the slightest second – they wanted to pledge themselves to _her_? – but she quickly regained her composure. “I saw the two of you fight against the Boltons to retake Winterfell. You fought against the dead. I’m sure your courage and skill pleased Lady Lyanna beyond words.” She took a deep breath. “What are your names?”

The younger and bolder of the two knights, the one who had asked to serve Sansa, spoke first. “Ser Brodick, my lady.” He had dark red hair that he kept pulled back, and a matching beard he kept neatly trimmed.

“Ser Allyn, my lady,” the older one said. He couldn’t have been more than five years apart from his comrade, but his expression was that of an old man.

“You have a family, Ser Allyn?”

“Yes. A wife and a son, with another child on the way.”

“Where are they?”

“They were ferried back Bear Island before the battle, my lady,” he said. “As you and Lady Lyanna suggested.”

“Do you have a second name?”

“No, my lady. Just Allyn.”

“And you served the Mormonts all your life?”

“From my first breath. I wish I could’ve saved my lady. I would have gladly died in her stead. I’ve no mind for war.”

“And politics? Do you have a mind for that?”

“I think so, your gr – er, milady,” he quickly amended.

“Your family will need you in the days to come. As will your people.” Sansa leaned back in her chair. “I wish for you to return to Bear Island once the storms have passed to be with your family and your people. You are a brave and honorable man loyal to his people. You will serve as the steward of Bear Island.”

Ser Allyn looked like he might fall over. Brodick had to nudge him to make him speak. “I will serve you as I served Lyanna. I will look after her people in the same way she would. By your generosity and grace, Lady Stark. I serve at your pleasure.”

Sansa gave him a reassuring smile. There was a moment of confused silence before the Island warriors – hardly two dozen of them left – jumped from their seats and cheered for their friend.

Sansa turned back to Brodick. “You would serve me and the Stark name?”

“I would.”

“Do you have a taste for politics?”

“No, milady. I love my home; it will be in good hands with Allyn and his family. I wish to serve you properly, not from afar.”

“You would remain at Winterfell for as long as I command?”

“Absolutely.” He got to his knees before the table and made his vow. Sansa accepted with another smile, and the men all cheered again.

Sansa raised her glass. “To House Mormont and its warriors. We shall never see their like again.”

Jon was afraid to look at Daenerys. He could only imagine the expression on her face. The _rage_ within her. Sansa was being honored above her. Sansa was exercising her authority by handing out titles and lands.

Very well. Dany could do that too, but on a much larger scale.

“Gendry.”

The young man was headed out of the hall when the queen’s voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned back around slowly. “Yes, your grace?”

“Your father was the Usurper Robert Baratheon. Is that not true?”

Gendry shifted uncomfortably. “People have told me he’s my father. I never met him, though. I can’t say for sure.”

“Before the Rebellion, House Baratheon was Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, did you know that?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“And now House Baratheon is dead.”

An uncomfortable silence permeated the room.

“You are not your father, nor am I mine,” Dany said. “We shouldn’t be held responsible for the actions of men we never met. Do you agree?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“The Stormlands are leaderless now.”

Gendry looked to Jon for guidance, but he was just confused as Gendry. “I suppose so, your grace.”

“It is a shame that a great house must die because of the actions of a few foolish men.” Daenerys stood; Gendry instinctively took a step back. The surviving Dothraki and Unsullied were outside of Winterfell’s walls, but he had no doubt they’d come rushing in to murder him if their lady desired.

“I wish to legitimize you and restore your house to its rightful place.”

She did not wait for a response but began speaking.

“I, Daenerys of House Targaryen, first of my name, lady of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, hereby legitimize you in the Baratheon name. I name you Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and Lord of Storm’s End. Do you accept this?”

Gendry open and closed his mouth, stammering like a fool. Somebody kicked him in the shin. “Y-yes, yes, of course. Thank you, your grace.”

Daenerys raised her glass. “To Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End.”

The men in the hall all shouted excitedly, even those who had long since forgotten the Baratheon name.

“And to Arya Stark, the hero of Winterfell!”

The hall erupted into cheers as Dany sat back down. Smirking, she turned her head to look at Sansa. Sansa did the same. Jon, who sat squarely in the middle of the ladies, downed his goblet of ale with impressive speed.

He scanned the crowd for an ally, someone to flee to, but there were no good options. Tormund had already vomited twice and shown no signs of slowing down. Davos and Tyrion spoke by the serving table, no doubt ranting and raving about the Red Woman and her god and all the things she had done.

Jon wasn’t terribly curious about the Lord of Light or his priestess. Yes, it would be nice to know even a fraction of what happened, but Jon wasn’t involved anymore. Let it be someone else’s worry now.

One more fight, and Jon was free. He just had to make it through the siege of King’s Landing.

*

Jon shook his head at the massive horn Tormund held out to him. “I can’t do all of it. Not in one go.”

Sansa smiled. “Go on. I believe in you.”

“I’ll vomit.”

“So?” Tormund badgered.

Jon balked. “Vomiting isn’t celebrating.”

Tormund looked genuinely confused. “Yes, it is.”

“I’ll try it,” Sansa said, rising to her feet. “Never let it be said that the Starks shy away from a challenge.”

“Sansa, it’ll kill you,” Jon said. “You’re skinny as a broomstick. You’ll fall right over.”

“She’s a ginger!” Tormund said. “Gingers are capable of many great things.” Sansa nodded pointedly at Jon. “And she’s much taller than you are. Tiny men don’t drink well.”

“Stop calling me tiny!”

“You are little, but you are mighty,” Tormund said. “You rode a fucking dragon. You got stabbed in the fucking heart. You have the world’s smallest cock. And still you prevail!”

“Prove it!” Sansa shouted. “Drink!”

Jon shook his head again. “I’ll pass out on this floor, and you’ll have to stay up all night taking care of me.”

Tormund growled. “Too much talk! Southerners are shit.” He tipped the horn and threw his head back. As much wine fell down the sides of his face as went down his throat.

Sansa began clapping to the tune of a drinking song. “ _We like to drink with Tormund, cause Tormund is our mate!_ ” Jon and Davos laughed and joined along. “ _And when we drink with Tormund, he downs it all in eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”_

Tormund cried out triumphantly, holding the empty horn upside down to prove his success. Everyone clapped and hollered. “Let’s see the fucking horse lords do that!” He grabbed one of his wildling friends by the collar, which was fortunate, since he nearly fell down when he stepped forward. “Where is the big woman? It’s time to make babies!”

“Don’t you already have two daughters?” Sansa asked.

“No such thing as too many children. Making them is very fun.”

Everybody was laughing. Somehow Jon and Dany locked eyes.

She was struck by how much she missed him. Why hadn’t he been with her before the battle?  It could’ve been their last night on earth. And he chose to spend it – Well, she didn’t know where he’d spent it. Not with her. The person he loved.

Sansa noted their shared look. She threw her chair back and stormed off.

Jon put his cup down and started to go after her. Dany put her hand on his arm and pulled him back. “She wants to be alone.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Be with your people, Jon. They need you.”

*

The Hound hadn’t turned his face up in the last hour. He had no idea what was going on when Sansa sat down across from him.

They looked each other over for a moment before Sansa spoke. “You’re looking no worse for wear.”

The Hound grunted. He paused to measure his words. “I heard you were broken in. I heard you were broken in rough.”

All emotion dropped from Sansa’s face. Her eyes seemed to leave her head; the fury in her gaze was hardly human. “Horses are broken in. I was raped.” He was shocked by her boldness, her ability to say what had happened to her without flinching. Her lips pulled up into a sneer. “Look at you. The dauntless Sandor Clegane. You killed half the people in King’s Landing and slaughtered the dead, but you can’t say one simple little word. You’re too afraid.”

The words bounced around in his head long after Sansa had left the hall. Her meaning was clear: _I am stronger than you will ever_ _be_.

*

Jon was exhausted. It was the sort of exhaustion that cut through your skin and weighed down your bones. He’d been exhausted for most of his life, but he finally felt as though he could sleep.

The Lord of Light had brought him back in order to defeat the army of the dead. That had been his goal for as long as he could remember now, more important than returning to his family after they all fell apart.

It was his duty, and now that duty was done. He was free now, free to do anything he wanted. And what he wanted now was to fall into bed and never climb back out. When he saw Sansa in his room, he assumed that’s what she wanted, too.

Jon sighed in relief or joy, maybe both. “Sansa. I haven’t seen you.”

She sat on the edge of his bed, her fingers knotted in the blankets. “Did you mean it?” she asked simply.

“What?”

“Did you mean what you said to me?” Sansa repeated. “Do you love me?”

Jon took a deep breath. He thought he was going to die when he told her that – that’s why he told her in the first place. But he was glad for it now. He wouldn’t have to go on torturing himself.

His face relaxed into a smile. “Aye. I love ye.”

Sansa’s face softened and the corners of her mouth crept up. They embraced as they had at Castle Black, squeezing so hard they nearly melded together. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

He buried his face in her neck and murmured her name. “I should’ve done everything. . . Dany –”

“ _Don’t_ ,” she whispered. “I don’t want to think about anything else. Just you.”

Their mouths came together in a long, lazy kiss. It was all so strange and messy but she couldn’t get enough. She fell further against him in surrender.

He loved her. He would teach her how to kiss. How to be a lover. How to trust again. Everything.

They awkwardly made their way over to the bed without breaking the kiss. Jon’s intention was to fall back onto the mattress with Sansa in his arms. He wanted to hold her the way children hold their stuffed toys as they slept.

But Sansa stopped the kiss to draw in a raggedy breath before Jon had the chance to pull her back. She couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs. She exhaled his name. “Jon. Jon.” She took a deep breath. “I want you.”

He went rigid for a moment, but he was just too tired to remain stiff.

He pressed his forehead against hers and shut his eyes as tightly as he could. He could feel her warm breath on his face. “Sansa . . .”

“You want me, too,” she said quietly. One of her hands snaked down between them to touch his breeches. He was already-half hard from their kiss, and it didn’t help that Sansa was rubbing against his shaft. The warmth from her hand burned through his trousers, setting him aflame.

“I can feel it,” she whispered into his mouth. “You’re hard. You want me.” She started pulling up her skirts. “Feel how I want you, too.” She took his hand and tried to put it between her thighs.

Jon tore his hand back and shut his eyes even tighter.  “I can’t,” he breathed.

“You can,” Sansa said. She put her hands against his chest. “You _can_. I want you to.” She tried to take his hand again.

Jon started shaking his head before she’d finished talking. He still couldn’t open his eyes. It was hard enough to refuse her with his eyes closed, but if he saw the look on her face, her chest moving up and down with her ragged breath, he wouldn’t be able to do it.

And he had to do it. He had to refuse.

“I can’t. I don’t . . . I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You think you’ll hurt me?”

Jon winced. “We’ve been drinking . . . We shouldn’t . . .” He sighed. “It shouldn’t be like this.”

He wanted to woo her properly, to erase any and all fear from her mind, to block out all the memories of her past. He would be gentle with her, as gentle as humanly possible. It was her first time, in a way. She deserved to be spoiled rotten, made love to. Not pressed against a wall and fucked. And that was certainly what he would do if he took her now.

Sansa was both wounded and furious at his words. “Open your eyes.” He shook his head again. “Jon. Open your eyes and look at me.”

He clenched his jaw so tightly he might crack his teeth. His eyes found hers, and it took every last bit of his discipline not to reach out and claim her mouth with his own.

“I get to decide how it should be.”

Sansa was nearly at the door to her chamber when Daenerys rounded a corner and nearly crashed into her. “Oh, pardon me!” There was laughter in her voice. She always had to be like that, didn’t she?

“Excuse me, your grace,” Sansa muttered as the moved along

“Please,” Dany said suddenly; Sansa turned around slowly. “I’m leaving Winterfell in a few weeks once the snows have cleared. I don’t want us to part on such an unhappy note.”

Sansa was unamused. “How else do you suggest we part?”

Dany stepped forward. “We understand each other, Sansa. Whether you want to admit it or not. We’ve gone through the same things. We have ruled without being thanked. We have sacrificed for our people. We were both used like breeding stock. Forced into marriages we didn’t want –”

“Didn’t want?” Sansa stepped forward until she was towering over the so-called queen. “Joffrey Baratheon cut my father’s head from his body and made me watch. He beat me and tore off my clothes and threatened to rape me. Over and over. Always in public. But that was nothing compared to Ramsay.”

Daenerys knew better than to speak.

“He carved his name into my shoulders. He carved his sigil into my thigh. He stuck himself inside me any chance he got. And even that hurt less than the other things he did. He tied my legs open and forced the pommel of his sword all the way inside, up to the hilt. And the whole time his lover was laughing and telling him to go harder. Do you know what that feels like, your grace? Tell me, was that the sort of marriage you didn’t want? Was that the sort of marriage you got?”

They stared at each other for a long time. Sansa’s face was red with anger and her eyes were full of tears.

“Don’t ever presume to understand what I went through.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler - smut coming next chapter!

Jon and Dany awoke to the sound of shrieking dragons.

Dany bolted right up and ran to the window wearing only her shift. Jon felt groggy and weak from the drink and the fighting, and he couldn’t remember Dany getting into his bed, though he knew they hadn’t slept together since he was fully clothed.

It took him longer to reach the window; the drink he’d consumed last night weighed down his bones. His mind felt like a pickle in a vinegar jar.

Rhaegal and Ghost were near the livestock enclosures. Ghost seemed to be guarding a small flock of sheep from the dragon.

Jon pulled on his boots and ran off without waiting for Dany. Tormund and Davos joined up with him on his way out of the castle.

“Ghost! Rhaegal!” he shouted.

Arya was closest to the fray, totally unafraid. A crowd had gathered. They stood as far from the animals as they could while still seeing clearly.

The animals were calmer now, though still tense.

“What’s going on?” he called to Arya.

“The bigger one got two cows and six pigs before Ghost got to him,” Arya said.

“Ghost fought a dragon?!” Tormund said.

“He’s trying to keep them from eating all the livestock,” Arya said. “He knows we need them to feed ourselves.”

Daenerys joined the party then. “What’s going on?”

“The dragons are hungry,” Jon said. “Ghost doesn’t want them to eat our food.”

“They have to eat,” Dany said simply. “Your stores are well-stocked. Certainly you can spare a few cows and goats and sheep.”

“And if we can’t?” Arya asked.

Dany glared back at her. “My children need to eat.”

 _Children_. That sounded ridiculous to Tormund. The dragons were impressive, of course, but the queen might as well call herself the Mother of Cats.

“Dany.” Jon came in close to keep from embarrassing her. “Perhaps we could take the dragons beyond the wall to hunt.”

Dany looked at him for a moment. “Mount up, then.”

*

Sansa had watched the incident unfold from her window. The growling and screeching had awoken her, too. She pulled on the nearest dress and flew out of her room just in time to see Dany exiting Jon’s chambers.

She was too shocked to react. She was too tired and too hung over to think clearly, so she went back into her room and barred the door.

Her head throbbed as she laid back down and pulled the blankets to her chin.

She remembered everything that had happened yesterday, and everything that happened during the battle before it. She hadn’t drunk enough to forget but more than enough to feel sick.

Tormund said something about these bitter herbs that grew beyond the Wall. He would chew them in the morning after drinking and they would make him ill. He said he chewed something after that to settle his stomach, and within an hour he was back to himself.

Maybe she could ask him for some . . .

Jon’s headache must be ten times what hers was. She hoped so.

She could have forgiven him for rejecting her last night. He was doing what he thought was right, as he always did. He was very good and very stupid, like his father and brother before him.

She couldn’t wrap her head around Dany’s presence in his bedchamber. Jon would never purposely hurt Sansa, at least not in that way, but drunk men have no sense. Whether he had bedded Dany or not, he hurt Sansa. He wished he had the balls to tell her to leave; he supposed he'd just sleep somewhere else for the time being.

Sansa and Jon certainly couldn’t declare their love for each other while the foreign queen stalked their halls. She wouldn’t react well to hearing that Jon loved another. It wouldn’t matter to her if they were brother and sister, just that Sansa had taken Jon from her.

Sansa pressed her eyes shut and willed herself to fall back asleep. Perhaps things would be better when she woke again.

*

They sat on a mound of rocks as they watched the dragons spin in the air. Jon had to stop and run to the other side of the mound to get sick.

Dany either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She was too lost in her own thoughts.

“He didn’t seem afraid to die at all,” she said. The dragons tossed a bear up above their heads and set it aflame. “ _Khaleesi_ , he said. And then he was gone.” She stood up and began pacing in a circle. “He always called me Khaleesi. I knew him from the beginning, when I was still just a scared little girl. He always came back to me. over and over, even after I banished him. He always came back.”

Jon came back around the rocks, wiping his mouth. “I didn’t know him,” he said cautiously, “but I know he’d be satisfied with his death. All he ever wanted to do was protect you.”

Dany put her face in her hands and started to sob, her shoulders heaving with the strength of her emotion.

Jon swallowed. He’d feel guilty whether he comforted her or not. His urge to comfort won out in the end; he couldn’t stand the sight of a woman crying. Certainly not Dany.

He used to love her, didn't he? At least he thought he did. Was it lust? Or was it just years of loneliness and confusion leading do desperation? 

Jon suddenly felt guilty as he pressed her against his chest. She loved him. She believed that he loved her. He didn’t want to cause her pain, but he couldn’t tell her. Not yet. Not now. Not with the way she looked at Sansa.

She sniffled and turned her face up to kiss him. Her lips barely brushed his before he released her and stepped back. “I can’t.”

“Why?” She stepped forward and set his hands on her hips.

He pulled away again. “It’s too much, Dany. Too much has happened, too much has changed.”

She pulled away angrily.

“Jon, I need you to promise me you won’t tell anyone about who you are. Who you _really_ are.”

“It’s not information I want getting out, either. I’ve got no interest in ruling anybody.”

“We’re agreed, then,” she said.

“Sansa and Arya already know,” he said at length.

Dany slowly straightened but did not turn around. “When did you tell them?”

“Bran told Arya just after the battle.”

“And Sansa?”

“I told her as soon as I found out.”

“Before you told me?”

“I’ve known Sansa since she was born. I –”

Dany’s nostrils flared. “You know that she’s changed, don’t you? She’s not the little girl you grew up with. Not anymore. Not after what she’s seen. Not after what they’ve done to her.”

“She’s Sansa,” Jon said. “I know her. I trust her.”

“She wants to see my head on a spike.”

“That’s not true.”

“I don’t need her to love me; I stopped expecting love from the Northerners the moment I rode into Winterfell. But if she can’t respect me . . .”

Jon was dumbfounded. Was she really threatening his sister, or whatever it was she was to him now? 

The Targaryens were known for their ruthlessness, of course, but Jon hadn't expected such behavior from Dany. She was different. Wasn't she?

Dany turned around and shouted a Valyrian command at her dragons, who were finishing off their third bear. They swooped down and landed. Dany climbed onto Drogon’s back. “Come. We have plans to make.”

*

Her threat was the only thing Jon could think of for the next two days.

Sansa was still avoiding him, which made his worries a thousand times worse. Sam at least had started speaking to him again, though it was still tense between them.

Little Sam took an immediate liking to his Uncle Jon and tugged on his curls while he and his father talked.

Sam was worried about his mother and sister now that his father and brother were dead. The snows were falling too thick to send ravens. Jon was the perfect person to talk to about that sort of thing, since his family had been murdered or separated for years on end, and Jon knew exactly what to say to reassure his friend.

Sansa tried to keep busy. When she wasn’t organizing and administrating, she was sewing herself a beautiful grey gown.

She cried before she went to bed, thinking of Dany and Jon. Men fucked random women all the time regardless of whether they loved their wives or not. She just assumed Jon wasn’t that sort of person.

And when she finally did fall asleep, she dreamt of Theon’s cold body or the bones of her ancestors breaking from their stone tombs.

Dany called a war council on the third day. Jon and the other commanders stood around the table in the library as they examined the map of King’s Landing.

Davos knew the most about the city, including its weak spots. He’d been a smuggler for most of his life and made nearly all of his money moving goods in and out of the capital. He dominated the conversation; Tyrion chimed in a few times.

Sansa and Arya were there, of course, since Arya planned on fighting and Sansa wanted to know what danger her people would be walking into. She and Jon stood side by side but did not touch. Sansa kept her hands folded behind her back and her eyes on the map, only occasionally looking up to see Davos speak.

“Does the Warden of the North have any input?” Dany asked.

Jon cleared his throat. The pounding in his head had eased thanks to some concoction Tormund brewed him, but his mouth was still dry as bone. “I’ve never been to King’s Landing. I’ll follow whatever plan you make.”

Arya and Sansa exchanged a look. Jon had grown up learning the art of warfare, studying all the great battles in the Seven Kingdoms’ history. It was strange that he should be so hesitant, and stranger still that he would be so unquestioning and submissive to the queen.

The truth was,he didn’t trust his voice. His strategy was to be as compliant as possible to avoid incurring Dany’s wrath. He needed to think of a way to protect Sansa – and Arya, too, since she openly distrusted the dragon queen as well.

He tried to avoid speaking to her, or at the very least being alone with her. She still came to his room some nights, though she never asked him for anything. She just wanted to sleep beside him.

She felt untethered without Jorah there. She cried for him constantly and cursed herself for not being a better fighter. If they had held the wights off just a little while longer then he would still be alive.

Jon kept her grounded whether they fucked or not. He thought only of his next move and how it might benefit his friends and allies. If he was overwhelmed, he never showed it. She wished she could be as strong as him.

After the war council had left, he confronted Dany about their sleeping arrangements. “I don’t remember how you got into my bed.”

“I can’t sleep alone anymore. I toss and turn all night.”

“Why don’t you sleep with Missandei?”

“I can’t sleep with her either. I don’t feel safe.”

Jon looked appalled. “You don’t feel safe here?”

“Safe in my sleep, I mean. Safe from nightmares.” She shut her eyes and swallowed hard. “All I can see when I shut my eyes is Jorah; he’s always calling me Khaleesi.”

“That doesn’t seem like a bad dream, exactly.”

“It’s not. My husband is in those dreams, too. And all my dragons when they were small. They’re perfect dreams about times when I was happy. It only becomes a problem when I wake up.”

Jon murmured Dany’s name as she fell into tears. She clung to him desperately, and he cautiously embraced her in return.

“I have so few friends, Jon. I can’t afford to lose them.” She sniffled and shook her head. “I don’t know how many more I can stand to lose before I go bloody mad!” She pulled away to look into Jon’s sad eyes. “You’ve lost everyone. How do you bear it? How do you keep going?”

“You just do.”

*

Jon rapped his knuckles against the arm of his chair, staring at the fire before him. Ghost was snoring on the foot of his bed.

The wolf spent most of his time with Sansa these days, as both he and his master agreed she should be looked after, but he still came to visit Jon every day.

Dany wouldn’t be coming to his chambers tonight. He didn’t even know where she was. Once she pulled herself together, she left the castle and rode away with her dragons. She told Missandei that she needed to be alone for a while, to mourn in private.

Her followers were not as frantic as Jon had expected them to be. Tyrion said once that this had happened before, and when she returned, it was with every Khal and horse lord within twenty miles of their sacred city.

She’d return when she felt better. Her dragons would care for her until then. She’d likely gone to one of the empty castles along the Wall or perhaps even back to Dragonstone, since it was only a day’s ride away.

Jon expected to feel some measure of relief now that Dany was gone, but his anxiety only intensified. There was nothing to distract him from his worries about Sansa.

It was as bad as it was before the Night King came, before he left for Dragonstone. Before he told her how he felt. He was in limbo again, a state of suspended animation, stuck between heartbeats as he waited for Sansa to rescue him.

He leaned forward in the chair and rubbed his forehead. He had a headache again. Tormund said they were probably caused by the buns he wore, but Jon knew better.

Fuck it.

He stood up and left his chambers.

He ran into Arya as he rounded the corner into a new corridor.

“Hello, Jon.”

“Arya.” He smiled in reply. “Have you seen Sansa?”

“She’s having a bath in her chambers,” Arya said.

“Oh.” Jon shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t just go back to his room now that he’d gotten the nerve up. But Arya was blocking his path and he didn’t want her to know about him and Sansa just yet. . .

“You’re going to go in anyway, aren’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Bran told me at the same time he told me about your birth parents. I think he knew before either of you did.” She looked back at Jon with a casual expression on her face and a smile waiting below the surface. “I don’t care, Jon,” she said in anticipation of his stammered defense. “You’re good for each other.”

Jon smiled and embraced her. If Arya approved, then it couldn’t be so strange after all.

He paused for a moment when he reached Sansa’s door. He took a deep breath and turned the knob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I saw Rocketman a couple weeks ago and I'm not over Richard Madden singing. I've always been more into him than Kit by a thin margin.
> 
> Thinking of posting a Robb/OC fic that I wrote around the time Cinderella came out. Tell me what you think!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy smut and smutty fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know the last chapter was kind of a clusterfuck; I really just needed to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible. Things are back on track now and hopefully you can forgive me for that unedited, poorly-characterized shitshow.

 Sansa sat in the center of the tub, hugging her knees to her chest as she watched the flames dance in the fireplace. She didn’t look up when she heard the door creak open and closed again a few moments later.

“Sansa.”

Sansa slowly tore her gaze from the fire to look at Jon.

Sansa wasn’t embarrassed at her nakedness. She was under the water and curled around herself, so he couldn’t see her body, and she wouldn’t mind even if he could. She wanted him to see her.

His voice was gruff when he spoke. “Do you still want me to touch you?”

She stood slowly, droplets of water running down her creamy skin, flowing red hair clinging to her back all the way to her waist. “Yes.”

Jon’s pulse quickened as he took her in. Her breasts sloped softly down from her chest. Her ribs tapered into a lovely waist from which her hips flared out. There were scars, of course, but Jon hardly noticed them. He was too taken with her.

His eyes finally traveled down to the triangle of curls above her womanhood. They were fiery red, just like her hair.

Fire-cocks and fire-cunts – that’s what Tormund sometimes called gingers. It had been an understatement with Ygritte; it was likely an understatement with Sansa, too.

Sansa stepped out of the tub to stand just before her cousin. His breath was fast and deep as he drank her in. She stepped out of the tub and moved towards him. She was even lovelier up close.

Sansa was nervous but not afraid. She trembled with cold and excitement, not fear.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon whispered. He lifted his eyes from her body to look at her angelic face. “Sansa.”

“Touch me,” she whispered.

He slowly wound his arms around her waist and pulled her up against him. His mouth slanted over hers in a rough kiss. His hands traveled along her back and thighs. She was so _warm_.

Jon pulled away when she started tugging on the laces of his doublet. They tore the laces away as quickly as they could; Sansa pushed the jacket down from his shoulders. She was more alarmed by his scars than he was of hers. She brushed her fingertips along the one over his heart and whispered his name.

“They’re only scars,” he said. He held the back of her head and pulled her face to kiss for another kiss.

The image of Daenerys emerging from Jon’s room rattled around in the back of Sansa’s head. Her rational mind told her to stop, to demand an explanation from him. How could he be so bloody stupid?

Yes, she ought to stop and scream at him.

But her body’s wants were stronger than her mind’s.  She couldn’t stop now. She would die if they did.

The feel of her bare breasts against Jon’s chest had them moaning. He was knotted with muscle and his chest hair was scratchy. And she was so unimaginably soft.

Jon pulled away from her so he could lift one of his hands to cup her breast. Sansa’s head fell against his shoulder as his strong fingers kneaded the soft flesh.

“The bed,” she whispered. They managed to stumble over. Sansa fell on her back with Jon on top of her. Her bare thighs were open. She could feel his erection as she unconsciously bucked against him.

He growled in frustration; he needed to have her soon or he would go mad. His mouth moved to her jaw, her neck, and stopped at her breast. He took as much of it in his mouth as he could and began to suckle. She nearly jumped off the bed at the sensation. She dug her fingers into his neck and shoulders; she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stop or keep going. She just knew that it was a strange and overwhelming sensation.

Jon released her slowly. He looked up at her, eyes dark with desire. “Take out my tie.” Sansa did as she was told and released his hair from its bun. “Put your fingers in my hair. Show me what you like.”

She had no idea what he meant, even when he hitched her thigh over his shoulder. She whispered out his name, unsure of what he meant to do. He opened her softly with his fingers and growled at the site before him: she was slick and swollen red with desire.

She was terrified; she had no idea what business he had down there. But she trusted him to be gentle. “Jon?”

“Let me taste you.”

She swallowed and nodded cautiously.

He moaned again before putting his mouth on her. She nearly came off the bed. Her toes curled. She tried to lift her knees to her chest. Her grip on Jon’s hair was painful, but that only made him smile. She liked the way he was touching her.

“Jon.”

He paused for a moment and kissed her inner thigh. He couldn’t hide his proud smile. “I can’t continue if you keep moving your hips like that.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stay still.” She tried to pull his face back between her legs. “Just – please!”

He chuckled and returned to his work.

He glanced up at her face without removing his mouth. She was halfway sitting up, watching Jon’s ministrations until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. They were shut tightly now, brows pulled together, mouth opened wide.

His breath was hot and his beard was scratchy and his lips were soft and he loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her. There was no doubt in Sansa’s mind anymore, no fear of rejection, no thoughts of the woman who’d shared his bed.

How could he not love her? He was being so patient and gentle as he touched her more intimately than she previously thought possible.

Her breathing changed when she felt something growing low in her belly. She felt her soul and her body begin to separate. “Jon. Something’s happening. I feel strange.”

Jon pulled back enough to speak but remained close enough that Sansa could still feel his breath on her core. “Let go, sweet thing. Nothing bad will happen to you. I love you.” The last sentence was mostly lost as his mouth returned to its work.

“ _Jon_.” Sansa’s back arched. Her muscles began to coil. Her thighs instinctively tried to close around his head, but Jon held them open with a strong hand. His other reached up to massage her breast; Sansa grabbed it and held it there. She would fly away if he let go of her, she would die –

A sharp gasp. That was the only sound she made as waves of pleasure began to roll through her, stretching all the way down to her toes.

All of her muscles tightened and released without control as though she was seizing.

She flooded his mouth with her wetness, so much that it dripped down to his beard. He consumed as much as he could, determined to take her essence inside him as she would take his. Gods, she tasted good.

She began to choke and sob as the pulses lessened. There were no tears in her eyes despite the fact that she sounded like she was crying. She herself wasn’t recovered enough to tell if she was. It didn’t matter.

“Jon,” she whimpered, pushing his hair back. His eyes flickered up to hers. He pressed one more long, deep kiss to her center before moving to hover over her. She was too shocked to respond much to the kisses from his wet lips that trailed across her cheek and neck.

Jon was breathless when he pulled up to look at her. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, still gulping for air. “I want more.” Her hand reached down between his hips. He was hard as steel, breeches painfully tight against his bulge. Jon thought the garment was in danger of tearing.

Sansa was painfully aware of her emptiness. Her walls had touched each other as she came, trying desperately to clamp down on something that wasn’t there. She _needed_ him, more than she’d ever needed anything. The aching was worse than any thirst or hunger.

“I want you inside,” she managed. She started pawing at the ties on his trousers, but he caught her by the wrist and held her still.

“I won’t anything you don’t want me to. But if I start,” he whispered, “it will be very hard for me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” Sansa breathed. She grabbed at the laces again and he stopped her as before.

“Listen. If you want me to stop, I will, but I won’t be able to hold you until I’ve finished. I’ll leave the room for that, of course, but if you don’t –” He hesitated as he worked out the words in his mind. “If you think of bad things, I won’t be able to hold you right away. Do you understand? I won’t be able to comfort –”

Sansa put her hands on his face and searched his dark eyes with her own. “I love you, Jon.” she pushed back his hair. “This is what I want. You couldn’t ruin it if you tried.”

He smiled down at her. “I’m not trying.”

And he thrust.

Sansa gasped in surprise. Jon froze, a look of horror on his face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she assured him. “It’s just . . . strange.”

She expected a fair amount of pain – she thought Ramsay might’ve permanently damaged her inside – but this was different. There was a little pain, sure, but only the soreness that came from poking at an old wound. It also felt . . . good.

“You’re not hurting me,” she said again. “I want you to move. I want to feel you.”

Jon attempted to reach between her legs to stimulate her, but she kept pulling his hand away. She needed to be held more than she needed to come. Besides, she was afraid to lose control like that while he was inside her, at least this first time.

He told her how beautiful she was, how warm and soft. He whispered oaths of devotion and everlasting love.

She held him close as tears slid from the corners of her eyes. She chanted his name over and over. She kept her eyes open even as his fell closed. She needed to see him to know that this was Jon and not someone else. Her Jon.

He soon began shaking, a thick layer of perspiration clinging to his skin. “Sansa,” he gasped, preparing to move away. “I’m – I’m going to –”

She put her hands on his taut backside, pressing him into her. “Do it. I want you to.” She opened her thighs as widely as she could to take more of him inside. “Come inside me, Jon. I love you.”

Her declaration pushed him over the edge. His hips stuttered and he groaned out her name as waves of pleasure rolled through him. How could anyone be so warm and wet and soft? How had he survived this long without touching her?

He’d never let go of her again. The separation would feel like severing a limb.

She kept her arms tight around his shoulders to keep his chest flush with hers. She needed to feel him, every part of him.

He stilled, gasping for breath, and buried his face against her neck. He was only aware of the warmth and softness beneath him and the gentle smell of the rose soap with which she'd been washing.

The first thing Jon thought of when his mind returned to his body was the tears he felt against his cheek and neck. He leaned up on his elbows to look down at Sansa’s perfect face. Her bright blue eyes looked up at him with such innocence and trust that it nearly broke his heart.

He brushed her tears away with his thumbs. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

She nodded breathlessly. He leaned down to kiss her again before rolling onto his back, pulling her along with him.

She curled up against his chest, rubbing her cheek against his burning skin. She sighed his name. “Thank you.”

He snorted a laugh. “What are you thanking me for? I should be thanking you.”

“It was just how I wanted it to be. How my wedding night should have been.”

He kissed the top of her head and continued to rub her back and shoulder. This was a new wedding night, in a way. They would never touch another again. They would be together, love one another long after their final breaths.

Sansa could feel his hot seed slowly spilling out of her. She’d felt the sensation before, of course – Ramsay always finished inside her – but it was somehow new. Comforting. Proof of Jon’s sweet words and soft touches. Proof of how relations between a man and a woman could and should be gentle and loving.

They’d made love. Not fucked.

Tears pricked her eyes as Jon continued to caress her. For the first time in years, she was really, truly _safe_.

She believed the soft promises Jon whispered to her as they fell asleep.

 _No one will ever touch you again_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned - There's going to be a fair amount of smut from here on out


	10. Chapter 10

Sansa woke before Jon did. They lay facing each other on their sides. She used Jon’s extended arm as a pillow.

It took her a moment to remember herself. Her mind was still lost in the clouds. Jon’s kisses still burned her skin; his words still repeated in her ears.

It had been perfect. Every last second. She wanted to stay in bed like that for the rest of her life, curled up beside the man she loved. And she really did love him. She thought she would scream if he was ever alone with Daenerys again.

 _What was she doing in his room_?

That thought ruined her good mood. The dragon queen always ruined her good moods.

She sat up slowly so as not to wake Jon and hugged her knees to her chest. The bathtub was still in front of the dying fire. The water would be cold enough to stop her heart by now, but perhaps that’s what she needed to pull herself from this haze of passion.

Jon sighed in his sleep and reached out for Sansa. His eyes slowly opened when he realized Sansa was not where she should be. “Sansa?”

She smiled down at him. “Good morning.”

He shut his eyes again and smiled back. “Come back. I haven’t finished sleeping yet.”

She reached down to run her fingers through his dark curls. “You’re meant to go hunting today. Do you remember?”

“Tormund can manage without me. He’s got Jaime and Davos for company. Maybe Brodick, too, if he can pull himself away from that blacksmith of his.”

“What do you think of Brodick?” Sansa asked after a moment.

Brodick took to life at Winterfell with incredible speed. It seemed as though he’d been there for years. He even found himself a lover in one of the blacksmiths.

“I think he’s loyal. Talks too much, though.”

“You think everyone talks too much,” Sansa retorted. “You hardly speak at all.”

“Not lately. All these speeches and conversations. I’d rather be sulking quietly in a corner somewhere.”

Sansa laughed. Jon smiled and pulled her down to him.

He relinquished her after a long, playful kiss. “Stay in bed today,” he said as she slipped out. He admired the sway of her hips as she walked to the water basin.

“Why?” she asked.

“I want you to rest. It’s been a trying few days.”

“More so for you,” she said. She wrung out a damp cloth and began to wipe down her body. “I didn’t do any fighting.”

“When’s the last time you slept through the night?”

“I didn’t have any nightmares last night,” Sansa said defensively. Both she and Jon were silent as she cleaned the place between her legs. They worried she would see something that might upset her. There was a slight spot of blood, but the mess was mostly their mingled arousal that had dried along the insides of her thighs.

Sansa didn’t seem upset or even effected by the sight of it all; Jon felt comfortable enough to continue talking. “I felt you rolling around.” He stood and crossed the room to her. He easily folded her into his arms. “Sleep.”

Sansa smiled slightly; Jon had won the argument. “Will you stay?”

He broke eye contact. “They’ll ask questions.”

It was clear who he was referring to.

“I’ll come back to you tonight,” he promised. “Stay here. Rest.”

*

Sansa needed to keep busy in order to keep sane.

She’d fallen back asleep for an hour before waking with the image of Theon’s burning body in her mind and the smell of the pyres in her nostrils.

She climbed back into the bathtub and fully submerged herself in the icy water. She held her breath for as long as she could before popping back up. Her mind was clearer as she braided her wet hair behind her head.

She put on the simplest dress she had, as most of her others required a second pair of hands to put on and take off. Gilly was meant to be her handmaid now, but Sansa felt guilty for calling on the expectant mother.

Gilly already had a loud little boy to look after and she grew rounder by the day. Sansa thought in passing that she should be the one helping Gilly instead of the other way around.

Sansa used to think motherhood and childbearing were such wonderfully romantic things. Her engagement to Joffrey corrected that misconception, and her marriage to Ramsay solidly reaffirmed her new way of thinking. Bringing a new life into the world meant bringing a death, too, for all men must die someday, including and perhaps especially the innocent and young.

*

Sansa entered the library with a rare smile on her face. “Good morning.”

Bran and Tyrion echoed back her greeting from their place by the fire but did not invite further conversation.

The library seemed to be the only place for Bran now that the Heart Tree was inaccessible. Tyrion sat beside him, furiously scratching notes down in the empty pages of an old diary. Sansa thought they were well-matched friends.

People had begun seeking Bran out for information on everything they could think of. Davos in particular wanted answers about the Red Woman and her God. He also asked sometimes about his long-dead wife and their fiercely loyal son, but Bran didn’t know anything about the world of the dead. If there even was a world.

Sam was too nervous to ask Bran about his family – if his father and brother suffered much, if his mother and sister were all right.

Sam’s face lit up when he saw Sansa. “Good morning, my lady.”

Sansa sat in a chair across from his. “What are you reading today?”

“It’s about the history of noble houses in the Reach. I’m wondering who the Lord Paramount will be now that the Tyrells are gone.”

“And House Tyrell, House Frey, House Bolton, House Baratheon,” Tyrion said. “Though I suppose House Baratheon has been revived.”

“What about the Martells?” Sam asked. “Are they all gone?”

“One or two remain,” Bran said.

“What a shame. So many houses lost forever,” said Sam. “Though I suppose the Freys and the Boltons were no great loss.”

“Milady,” Ser Brodick walked quickly into the library without sparing a glance at the others. “We found something you ought to see.”

Sansa rose to her feet and folded her hands behind her back. “Bring it in.”

Two other Northern warriors came in carrying a bundle in their arms. They were delicate as they set it on the table. Sansa and the lords stepped closer as the men pulled away the burlap the bundle was wrapped in.

There were two skeletons inside, or parts of them, at least. The only indicator that it was two people instead of one were the two spinal columns laying side by side. They were quite small.

Sansa somehow maintained a mild expression as she folded her hands behind her back and looked at the remains. “You found them like this?” She tasted bile in the back of her throat. It felt as though her stomach was being beaten against rocks like laundry.

Brodick nodded. “We couldn’t find all the bones,” he said. He lowered his voice. “And some of them crumbled on the way here.” He indicated some chunks of what looked like charcoal. “It looks like children, judging by the size.”

Tyrion swallowed and stepped away. Sam put his hand over his mouth and ran to find a bucket. He only made it as far as one of the doors before vomiting.

“It was the dragons,” Bran said simply.

“Fetch my sister and Ser Brienne. Lord Varys, too,” Sansa commanded one of the soldiers. He bowed and slipped away. Sansa slowly turned to look down at Tyrion. “This has happened before, hasn’t it?”

*

There were a few horses beyond the wall, but the wildlings did not ride them. They weren’t suited to the rough terrain and wildlings didn’t trust them anyway. Tormund was the most skilled of his people, though that wasn't saying much. He constantly complained about the ache in his ass and wondered aloud about the safety of his balls. He fell off a fair few times.

The little party, including Jon and Tormund, stopped to rest in the forest. They’d spent the morning hunting. They had little success. 

“Ygritte could have killed that stag no problem,” Tormund said.

Jon's heart thumped at the mention of his deceased lover. He still missed her, stilled loved her, but he was no longer crippled by her loss. “She could’ve shot all the animals we saw,” Jon said. “But your people were all too loud and scared them off.”

“We don’t hunt stags and birds.”

“Then what do you hunt?”

“Mountain goats and seals. Sometimes wolves or bears. That’s dangerous, but the meat is good, and we need the fur.” There was silence for a moment as Jon sipped water from his flask. “So you stopped fucking the dragon lady.”

Jon choked. “What?”

“That’s why she’s so wound up.”

“She’s wound up because her friend died.”

“And because you stopped fucking her.”

Jon snorted a laugh.

“I didn’t expect it to work. You like gingers better. Me, Ygritte, Sansa.”

“Sansa?”

Tormund shot a glance towards Jaime Lannister, who was pissing on some tree roots. “It’s not good to fuck your sister,” the wildling said sagely.

Jon took a deep breath. “She’s not my sister.” Tormund made a noise of confusion which prompted Jon to explain. “Have you heard of Lyanna Stark?”

*

Arya tore her eyes away from the little skeletons to look at bran. “Who are they?”

“Tommard and Mara,” he answered smoothly. He knew who they were and how they lived. He knew everything about everybody, a fact that Sansa still found deeply unsettling. “They were orphans. They were in the crypts with you during the battle,” he said to Sansa. “Tommard climbed a tree to watch Jon and Daenerys ride in that first day. Mara told Davos she wanted to fight in the battle but Gilly convinced her to go to the crypts.”

The tension in the library was palpable. Sansa and Brienne were able to maintain their composure - and Bran, of course. Tyrion and Varys were stiff with shock and guilt and anxiety. Arya's whole body seemed to vibrate with the effort of keeping still. Surely the girl who'd defeated the Night King would be able to kill a dragon.

“Where did it happen?” asked Sansa.

“The crest of a hill. Two miles east.”

“I thought Queen Daenerys was away,” Brienne said.

“Apparently not far enough,” Arya said.

“Bran said this happened before,” Sansa said to the queen’s advisors. “Tell me what happened exactly.”

Varys and Tyrion cautiously explained the incident in Essos. How Dany had locked two of the dragons in a dungeon Drogon the third escaped. And then Drogon came back in her hour of need and whisked her away.

“It seems it’s the reverse this time,” Brienne said. “She rode off before the child died, not after.”

Everyone waited silently, watching the wheels turn in Sansa’s head.

“This information will remain only among us for now,” she said at last.

Arya’s eyes widened. “Are you mad?”

“It’ll only cause a panic,” Sansa said. “Our people will try to fight Daenerys’s. We can’t afford another battle.”

“What should we do then, milady?” asked Brodick.

“Children are not to leave the grounds unsupervised. We will implement a curfew for all our people. We’ll say it’s because of the snowstorms.”

Brienne and Brodick bowed and took their leave. Arya shot Sansa a look and departed after them.

“Lady Sansa, I can’t help but wonder why you’re keeping this information to yourself,” Varys said. Surely, she would be closer to ridding herself of the woman if she shared such information with her people.

But Sansa learned from Littlefinger to keep things close to her chest. She would sit on this information until the opportune moment arose. Tyrion almost wished she’d tell the people now to avoid whatever plot she was cooking up.

“And I can’t help but wonder why you follow a woman like her,” Sansa countered.

“She’s different from the others,” said Varys. “She’s not her father. Nor is she Joffrey or Cersei. She’s the best we could hope for.”

“Perhaps that was true when you met her, Lord Varys, but I can tell you that people change. The more things they see, the more things they endure, it changes them bit by bit until the person you knew before is dead.”

Varys considered her words.

Sansa walked over to Sam, who sat in a chair against the wall with his head between his legs in an attempt to regain his breath. He was talking quickly and quietly. He directed his comments at Bran, but the conversation seemed to be with himself rather than the boy.

Sansa put her hand on Sam’s shoulder. He sat up partway to look at her. “Tell Gilly what happened. Don’t let your son out of your sight.” Sam nodded and stood up. His knees shook so much he had to lean against the wall. “And Sam?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Jon told me about your mother and sister. You shouldn’t worry. They’re far away from all the fighting. I’m sure they’re having tea as we speak.” She offered a small, reassuring smile.

Sam half-smiled back. “I’ll go find Gilly, then.” He started the slow walk down the corridor.

A horn sounded outside. Sansa knew whose presence it was announcing even before Bran told her. “You should talk to him sooner rather than later. You’ll get distracted if you wait.”

Varys and Tyrion were both a bit confused by the boy’s cryptic warning, but they had learned by now to ignore such things.

Sansa knew exactly what he meant. Her physical need for Jon overpowered her rationality last night, but she’d be damned if she let him touch her now.

*

Sansa barged into Jon’s room and slammed the door behind her. “Tell me the truth. Do you love her?”

Jon sat on the edge of his bead as he removed his boots. “What?”

Tormund had been drinking ale by the fire when Sansa burst in. “I’m going to go.”

“Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, Mhysa, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons. Do you still think about her? Do you think she’s special?”

Tormund shut the door quietly, careful not to draw the couple’s attention.

Jon was wounded. “How could you ask me that?”

Sansa’s nostrils flared in anger; her eyes darkened. “Why was she in your bed, then? Why did I see her running out of your room the day after you rejected me?”

Jon stood up and raised his voice to match hers. “I didn’t invite her in. I woke up and she was just there.”

“Just there?” She snorted. “And I suppose you just fell into her a few dozen times. That’s perfectly logical.”

“I didn’t touch her!”

“Then why was she in your room?!” she shouted. “Do you know about her? About her dragons? Of course, you don’t. You just tuck your tail between your legs any time she enters the room.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying you’ve submitted to a madwoman.”

“I only ever–”

“She doesn’t give a damn about the North – or any of the people in it! She just wants to say it’s hers. You didn’t think before you bent the knee. You never think.”

“Could you stop insulting me until I’ve finished talking?” he snapped. “I did what I thought was best. I’ve only ever done what I thought was best.”

“You’re a coward. You were afraid to be king. And instead of serving the people who chose you, you got down on your knees and asked some foreign whore to take away your burden.”

“I died to protect my people! I would’ve died to protect you!”

“You’re just like Father and Robb. You don’t listen to reason. You don’t listen to anybody. They got themselves killed and so did you.”

His anger melted away as soon as he saw the tears gathering in her eyes. “Why are you shouting at me? What caused this?” He stepped toward her and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

She swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” He stepped back. She took a deep breath so she could speak without her voice shaking. “Are you so eager to die again that you throw yourself in front of a murderess?”

“I’m not the one provoking her.”

There was a long pause as Sansa gathered herself. “Her dragons ate two children, Jon. Both of them, including the one you ride around on and love better than Ghost. Brodick showed me their bodies. What was left of them, at least.”

Jon stepped back as his eyes widened in horror. “Dany knows about this?”

“It’s happened before. But she didn’t tell you, just like she didn’t tell you that she burnt Sam’s family alive. She crucified hundreds of men to show her dominance. You don’t know her, Jon. There are things she’s not telling you, things she’ll never tell you. You bent the knee to a stranger. You gave up the North to a stranger. And all because you liked the way it felt inside her.”

“I don’t want her!” Jon finally said. “I only ever slept with her because I thought I couldn’t have you. I was alone. Dying’s not a pleasant thing, Sansa. There wasn’t time for anything else.”

“So you slept with her because of your unrequited love for me. I suppose you’re going to say that you pretended she was me when you were inside her.”

“Why do you do this? Why do you always want to fight?”

“Because you don’t listen to me! I’ve never given you poor council, and yet you continue to ignore me! I warned you about Ramsay, I warned you about the Northern lords, I outsmarted Littlefinger, and still you disregard me.”

That wasn’t the reason it started, but now that the floodgates were open, all of Sansa’s frustration came rushing out like a wave breaking against a rock.

Jon was silent as he waited for Sansa to regain her control. “I promised her I would fight in King’s Landing. After that, I’ll never see her again.”

“And what about the time you spend together in King’s Landing or Dragonstone?”

“I never touched her the way I touch you. I never will,” he said. He rubbed his hand over her center through the fabric of her dress. “I never kissed her in the place I kissed you.”

Sansa damned herself for her body’s immediate and powerful response to him. “You need to listen to me, Jon. We have to be united, otherwise we’ll never survive this war.”

“I’ll listen, I promise.” He began rubbing his hand back and forth again.

“Jon, if we’re going to talk, you have to stop touching me like that.”

“You want me to stop?”

“No,” she moaned. Damn her weakness and damn Jon for causing it. “Never.”

She leaned back on the bed as Jon lifted his skirts. The soft curls between her thighs were already damp with desire. His tongue made contact with her folds and her head fell back.

“Jon. You have to listen to me,” she rasped out, desperately clinging to the last threads of reason even as she felt her wetness dripping onto her thighs. “This is the last time. I won’t forgive you again.”

Jon pulled away, letting her skirts fall back down as he moved to look Sansa in the eye. There weren’t words to describe what he felt in that moment.

She steeled herself as his misty eyes locked with hers. “I won’t, Jon. I mean it.”

He looked like he did when Catelyn would yell at him. He was frightened and defeated and desperate and so, so alone.

His expression tugged at Sansa’s heart, but she wouldn’t budge. She leaned forward and cupped Jon’s cheek with her hand. “Promise me, Jon.”

“I promise.” He held her hand against his face. “I love you, Sansa. Please don’t leave me. I’ll do anything.”

“I love you,” she whispered. “Truly.”

He held her gaze as one of his hands traveled beneath her skirts. She squeezed his shoulders as his thumb brushed over her sensitive nub in circular motions and his index finger gently slid into her.

“Jon, Jon, Jon, Jon.” His name was a prayer on her lips, getting faster and faster as she neared her release. “Jon, Jon – mine!”

“Yours forever,” he murmured. “Come for me. Show me how much you want me.” She dug her nails into his flesh as she began to tremble. Her walls tightened around his fingers over and over, the contractions so strong he could hardly pull his fingers out.

“Jon,” she gasped. “Jon. You’re _mine_.”

He stood up and unlaced his breeches as quickly as possible. Seeing and feeling her reach her peak made him harder than steel.

Sansa felt as though she’d just run a mile uphill. She couldn’t catch her breath. She was still able to aid Jon by lifting her skirts as high as her stiff leather bodice would allow.

Jon settled in to the cradle of her thighs and guided himself inside, holding Sansa’s gaze all the while. He pushed himself high up on one arm so he could watch her as his free hand roamed over her body. He was particularly taken with her thighs and hardly noticed the image of the flayed man carved into the left one.

Sansa kept one hand on the back of Jon’s neck and balled the other in a fist around the neckline of his stiff jerkin.

Her hips rose to meet his with every thrust. Her movements subtly told Jon what pace and depth she preferred. He was rewarded with ragged moans and pleas for more when he obliged.

“Tell me how it feels, sweet girl.”

“It feels good!” she whined. She tore his hand away from her hip and guided his fingers to her swollen nub. Her eyes remained fixed on his. “Touch me.”

He softly brushed his thumb over her. “You’re hot for me.”

Sansa smiled. “You’re hard for me,” she retorted. She tugged his face to hers for a long, hungry kiss that left their lips swollen and red. She knew when he moaned into her mouth that he was nearing his release. She let him pull away from her so he could look her in the eyes.

He saw fear there. “Do you want me to stop?” He barely got the question out, so engrossed was he in their lovemaking.

Sansa knew she would come apart any moment now and part of her was still afraid to lose control like that while he was inside her. “I want you to look at me when you come. You’re _mine_.”

His hand fell away from her center. “Yours. Yours.” His pace became sporadic and his breathing labored as his release drew closer and closer.

Sansa shifted her hips and moaned when his pubic bone pressed on her most sensitive spot. “Jon.”

“Sansa.”

They came apart at the same time, each one moaning the other’s name as they looked into each other’s eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut and drama

Sansa saw Jon less and less as Daenerys and her advisors became more engrossed in their battle plans. And with the snows falling knee-deep, there was little else for them to think of. Bran couldn’t even go out to the Godswood anymore.

Jon gave up his rooms to a young family with three children and a fourth on the way; the mother’s size made them suspect she was carrying twins. The father’s brittle old parents slept in the solar. After that, no one questioned where he slipped off to at night. So long as he and Sansa were careful, they could spend every night together.

Sansa didn’t mind that the days were Dany’s anymore now that she and Jon were together so much, and he hadn’t been alone with the queen since he and Sansa had their talk.

She attended most of the meetings, but Daenerys did not always welcome her. Jon later told her everything they talked about and what he thought of it, and then he’d ask for Sansa’s opinions on it all.

Daenerys had been told what her dragons did, and that Sansa knew. Each seemed to be biding their time, waiting to see what the other would do. Either Brodick or Brienne was near Sansa at all times; one of Dany’s Unsullied was always with her. War between the women could break out any moment, and neither wanted to be unprepared when it did.

Jon was becoming more open with Arya, who in turn began to expand on what she had done since escaping King’s Landing.  

The Starks had all become secretive in their time apart, but they would meet by the Heart Tree, weather permitting, and share their stories. They were different people now; they needed to learn each other again.

Sansa became more confident by the night. She began to feel safe and comfortable enough to close her eyes while Jon was inside her. She wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable around him. He would look after her.

She sat in his lap sometimes as he leaned against the headboard and rode him like a horse. This became their favorite position, as Sansa could set the pace while staying locked in Jon’s arms. He liked being able to see her lovely face as they moved together.

They would fuck at least once before bed and again at dawn when they awoke. And whenever one of them woke in the night.

“I want to kiss you,” Sansa said one night as Jon’s fingers trailed down to her center. He lay on top of her, his weight braced on one of his arms.

“Then kiss me,” he said, bringing his face down to hers.

“Not like that.” She sat up; he pulled his hand away. “I want to kiss you like you kiss me.” Jon still didn’t understand. Sansa grinned. “Lean back.”

He did as he was told and leaned back against the headboard. “Should I be worried?” he joked.

She giggled. “I don’t know. Stay still.” She kissed his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his chest, the knotted muscles of his stomach. He finally caught on to her intentions.

He brushed her hair away from her face. “Sansa, you don’t have to do that.”

She peered up at him through her long lashes. “I want to.” She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back. “Let me taste you.”

Jon hissed as her soft lips began to place chaste kisses up and down his shaft. She’d barely begun and already he was growling her name as he did when he was inside her. Her tongue cautiously flicked out and brushed over his sensitive flesh. “Oh, gods, Sansa, you’re going to kill me if you keep doing that.”

She smiled proudly and wrapped her hand around his length as she often did before he entered her. She continued licking and kissing at a painfully slow pace until she worked up the courage to do more. She looked up at Jon again for permission. All he could do was nod.

She took the head in her mouth and began to suck. He nearly leapt out of his skin.

He could feel that familiar coil tightening his lower belly, that scorching heat. He pushed Sansa onto her back and climbed on top of her. She was grinning, so pleased was she with herself and with the effect she had on him. He’d promised himself before they ever slept together that he would never come without bringing her to fulfillment first. He wasn’t about to break that promise now.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Jon said. He brought his hand down to her center and parted her slick folds enough for him to enter. He thrust forcefully, burying himself deep inside her.

“More,” she moaned. Her hips rose to meet his. “Jon. More. Please.”

He pulled out and thrust back in roughly. He established a slow but powerful rhythm. Sansa’s hand brushed against his lower stomach as she reached down to touch herself. It only added to his pleasure.

His movements were so powerful that the tip of his cock touched Sansa’s back wall. Soon she was too lost in the sensation to keep up the circular motions on her swollen nub. Her hand fell away.  “ _Jon_.”

“Sansa, I’m close. I’m so close.”

He’d barely gotten the words out before Sansa cried out in pleasure. She began to quake beneath him. She lost control of her movements and her voice as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her, all the way down to her toes. It felt as if her soul was leaving her body.

Her contractions were stronger than they’d ever been. Jon lost control, too. They couldn’t keep quiet, and they couldn’t stay still.

Jon collapsed on top of Sansa as his release ended. She seemed to still be going, but it only lasted another moment or two before she stilled and started gasping for air. Jon stayed inside of her as they both struggled to recover.

Sansa nearly wept. She’d never come so hard before. Neither had Jon, for that matter.

Jon pushed himself up on his elbows to look at the woman beneath him. She raised her hands to trace the scars around his eyes. “How do you feel?”

She smiled. “Half-dead.” She sighed. “I love you, Jon.”

Jon chuckled and pressed a kiss to her head. He snaked his arm under her waist and pulled her with him as he rolled onto his back. “Go to sleep, sweet girl. Dream of good things.”

He came inside of her every time they made love. Neither of them thought to avoid it, too lost in their haze of passion, in the feel of each other’s skin.

He was still inside of her when they fell asleep.

*

Arya spent most of her time in the queen’s presence imagining what it would be like to kill her. The woman had disrespected her family. She murdered innocent men. She let children die.

Dany tried to be friendly with Arya for a good long while before she realized it was useless. Jon had told her that Arya and Sansa disliked each other as children, but clearly that had changed.

Everyone Daenerys came across was unquestioningly loyal to Sansa. And not just because she was a Stark. She suffered unimaginable things just to get back to her home. She fought to retake her home even when the brave Jon Snow didn’t want to. She swore never to abandon her people, never to leave them behind, and unlike Jon, she kept that promise.

Dany’s advisors reasoned that the people had known her since the day she was born and that she’d proven herself to them time and time again.

Hadn’t Dany done that, too? She lost Viserion – her child, one of the only things in the world that she had left to love – to convince Cersei Lannister of the danger they all faced. And it was all for nothing. The Lannister armies never came, and the Northerners didn’t give a damn about her sacrifice.

Arya was relieved that Jon was finally coming to his senses regarding the dragon queen. That was Sansa’s doing, of course. They spent so much time together now.

Bran had told Arya how they felt about each other on the night of the great battle. She was all right with it, but it still seemed strange. Jon was her brother and Sansa was her sister, but they weren’t each other’s siblings anymore.

She tried talking to Bran about it, but he could hardly keep up a normal conversation these days. Mostly, he just restated facts that Arya already knew, but sometimes he said things of substance.

“They balance each other. She makes him stronger. He makes her merciful.”

She knew that it was a good match. No one else was good enough for Sansa.

She noticed as soon as she was back in Winterfell how Sansa stiffened when men came too near. She’d even glimpsed some of the scars that decorated her body.

Arya would kill any unwanted suitors without a second thought. She would kill anyone for her sister, and Sansa would kill anyone for her.

They’d taken each other for granted when they were young; they would not make the same mistake again. They were each other’s only sister. They’d already lost half their family, and they would be damned before one of them lost the other.

Arya knew it was only a matter of time before the people named Sansa their ruler. Everyone knew, though no one said anything about it for fear of Dany’s sharp temper.

When that day came, Arya would set Needle down at her feet and pledge herself to the Queen in the North.

*

Tormund was known among friends for his determination, his refusal to accept defeat. None of the wildlings, or Jon Snow, for that matter, were surprised that he continued to pursue Brienne after she rejected him.

A group of warriors ate an early supper in the great hall, including Tormund, his love, and the man who had stolen her away.

“So, you used your right hand before they cut it off?” Tormund asked

“Yes,” Jaime said.

“So, your left hand is weaker.”

“Yes.”

“Clumsy.”

“I suppose.”

“Can you still tug yourself off with it?”

Brienne choked on her wine so hard it came out of her nose. Jaime roughly patted her back with his metal hand as she coughed. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” she said. “I think I’ll go outside for some air. _Alone_.”

Tormund grinned at Jaime as the object of their affection left the hall. Jaime glared back.

*

“What will you do when we finally leave?” Tyrion asked Sansa. They at across the hall from Brienne and the others. Quite a crowd gathered to hear to Podric and the others sing or listen to people tell stories. The stores of wine and ale were nearly gone, and the people were starved for entertainment.

Tyrion especially struggled with the lack of drink. He’d fall into sweats and sickness so severe that some people thought he’d taken ill. Sansa knew the reason, of course, and made sure he had at least one glass of wine a day – not enough to get him drunk, just enough to keep the symptoms at bay.

Everyone was sick in their own ways lately, Sansa included.

“When you leave?” Sansa did not look up from her sewing when she replied. “I imagine I’ll celebrate.”

Tyrion snorted.

“I’ll send a party to Deepwood Motte.”

“To the Umbers?”

“Glovers,” she corrected. “House Umber’s holding was Last Hearth.”

“Umber is the dead house, then,” Tyrion said.

“There are a lot of dead houses now. Maybe even my mother’s house. No one knows what became of my uncle Edmure.”

“I expect he’s Lord of Riverrrun now that the Freys are gone. Jaime spoke to him before the battle against the Blackfish.”

Sansa hummed in response. She didn’t care for her uncle. She’d met him as an infant and grew up hearing stories of his stupidity. He was the indirect cause of the Stark’s feud with the Karstarks.

“What do you intend to do at Deepwood Motte?” Tyrion asked.

“Take whatever stores they may have collected and add them to our own. And then deal with Lord Glover, of course.”

“Do you think they’re still alive?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t expect them to live much longer.”

“Jon forgave the Glovers for not coming to your aid during the Battle of the Bastards, did he not?”

“He did. That kindness will not be extended again.”

Tyrion smiled to himself. “Do you remember back in King’s Landing, you told me about how your sister would torment you? She’d hide sheep’s dung in your mattress. You called it sheep-shifting.” They both laughed. “I remember it perfectly. I ask why you called it shift. _That’s the vulgar word for dung_ , you said. You sounded so very sure of yourself.”

“I still don’t curse,” Sansa said. “That much hasn’t changed.”

“Isn’t it funny that that sort of thing remains constant even when the world fucks you in the ass?” He finished his meager cup of wine before realizing what he’d said. “Excuse me, I didn’t –”

Sansa shook her head and picked up her sewing again. “It’s all right. There’s no use pretending it never happened, and I don’t want to be treated differently because of it. Besides, I’m not afraid of words.”

Tyrion said, “Your mother would be very proud of you.”

She opened her mouth to reply just as one of the children in the hall started vomiting. She turned her face away and breathed deeply to keep from gagging. “The children are all getting sick. The adults will soon, too.”

“The danger of close quarters,” Tyrion said. “At least my sickness can’t infect others.”

Sansa feared that she herself was falling ill. She vomited every morning when she woke up now. She couldn’t keep food down. She kept it to herself, of course; Jon and Arya would only worry, and the others would ask her to lessen her workload. She simply couldn’t do that. Her people needed her. And honestly, she needed the work.

Jon’s constant presence helped her mental state more than words could say, but dark thoughts still plagued her. Ser Merrin Trent tearing her dress open in the throne room. Joffrey threatening to rape her on her wedding night. The news that her mother and brother had been slaughtered like pigs. The mischief in Littlefinger’s eyes and the pain in Theon’s.

“I hear Gendry’s quite ill,” Tyrion said, snapping Sansa from her trance. “Though I think he’s sick with worry rather than this bug.”

“He doesn’t want to be a lord,” Sansa replied. “He wasn’t built for it.”

“Few people are.”

*

Arya twirled her knife around in her hand before tossing it easily at the wall. It landed in the exact center of Bran’s door.

“Can’t you do that in your own room?” Sansa asked from her spot by the window. “You’ll ruin Bran’s door.”

“I don’t mind,” Bran said.

Arya wiggled her knife out from the wood and walked back to her previous position to throw it again.

“Must you really do that?” Sansa said. “You’re making me anxious. And all that twirling makes me feel ill.”

“I find it calms me down,” replied Arya. “Everything makes you feel ill lately.”

Jon opened the door just as Arya tossed her knife again. He ducked just in time, and the knife only brushed against his hair. “Are you trying to murder me?”

“We’ll see,” she replied, holding out her hand for the dagger. Jon pried it out from the wood behind him and handed it over. “What did you call us here to talk about?”

Jon took one last look around the corridor before shutting the door behind him. “Daenerys will be taking her armies south soon. We’ve got to figure out what we’re going to do.”

“Do you believe she can take the capital?” Sansa asked.

“I heard Jaime say she got the Golden Company to fight for her,” Arya said. “And Theon’s uncle and all his ships.”

“Cersei’s Hand made special weapons,” Bran said. “They’re called scorpions. They’re designed to kill dragons.”

“Can they?” asked Jon.

“Yes. But I wouldn’t underestimate Daenerys. She’s unsettled.”

“How so?” Arya asked.

“Ser Jorah is dead,” Jon said. “She relied on him a great deal.”

“He loved her,” Sansa said. “Daenerys is a woman who needs to be loved.”

Arya tossed her knife at the door again; it landed in exactly the same spot as before. “And what are we meant to do about it?”

Bran said, “We have to give her what she wants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm gonna publish an old Robb/OC fic of mine. It's pretty trashy but very fluffy.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets realer.

Poor Gendry was in over his head. The boy couldn’t even read and yet he was a lord. He was responsible for people. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to be a lord.

Sam gave Gendry reading lessons and Bran told him of House Baratheon’s history. Tyrion tried with little success to teach him about politics. Davos just stood back and told him he’d grow into it. He also called him a poor sod.

Davos was distracted these days, though he tried his best to remain focused. He knew about Jon’s true parentage now. The whole thing made his head throb. He longed for the days when he was just some unknown fingerless fuck serving his best friend, Stannis, even though he never smiled.

Jon was just as serious. Davos supposed he preferred sullen men to jovial, but he wasn’t sure why.

*

“Do you know where Daenerys is?”

Missandei was taken aback by Sansa’s question. The Northerner avoided the queen at all costs; why would she seek her out?

“Her Grace has gone riding again,” Missandei said.

Daenerys spent most of her time riding Drogon. She saw her advisors and commanders for hardly an hour each day. She spent the rest of her time in her rooms. Losing Ser Jorah had destabilized her. She felt adrift and alone despite the fact that she had other advisors.

It didn’t matter. She felt she had no one left to lean on. She couldn’t confide in any of them the way she had confided in Jorah, except perhaps Missandei.

“May I ask why you’re looking for her?”

“I wanted to know if she’d finalized her plans to travel.”

“Her grace plans to leave within the next two weeks. If the snows have not melted by then, her dragons will assist in clearing it away.”

“By setting the North on fire?”

“The dragons are well-trained.”

“Not well enough.”

“They will only do what is necessary, nothing more.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes as she thought. She was easily distracted when she was in Missandei’s presence. She’d never seen someone with skin in such a color. And she was pretty, too, and her hair encircled her head like a crown. She was lovely.

“Daenerys freed you?” Sansa asked.

“Yes. She asked my master for me as a gift. She freed the Unsullied soon after.”

“How?”

“Drogon killed many of the masters, as did the Unsullied.”

“Because she commanded them to.”

“Daenerys gave them the option to leave. They chose to follow her – to help her liberate the other slaves suffering in Essos. We chose her.”

“And the Northerners chose Jon.”

*

Gilly started her laboring while everyone was enjoying their midday meal.

She’d been confined to her bed for the last week in preparation for the event. Little Sam was the one to tell his father. Gilly, unable to walk, sent the little boy to fetch help.

He went tearing through the castle in search of his father before finding him in the buttery.  “Mamma’s having her baby! My brother-sister!” he screamed. “Papa! Babyyyyy!”

The jars in Sam’s hands fell to the ground and shattered. Brodick and Davos had to shove him to get him moving. Men were never present for their children’s births – such a thing is too strange and upsetting for a man – but Sam was nearly a maester, and he wasn’t the sort of person to leave Gilly alone during such a time.

Not including Sam, Wolkan and three women attended Gilly during her delivery. The whole thing went much faster than anticipated as Gilly had already given birth once before. Within a few hours, a new little life had entered Winterfell.

Childbirth was horrifying to men – and to many women. Arya disappeared somewhere to avoid even thinking about such a thing while Sansa retreated to her rooms.

Jon paced anxiously back and forth in front of the bed. He frowned, deep in thought. His break-neck pace made Sansa dizzy.

“It’s not as though she’s having your baby.”

“Don’t jest with me. I wouldn’t know what to do with a baby.” He stopped his pacing. “I remember they rang the bells all day long when you were born.”

“I remember when Rickon was born,” Sansa said. “He screamed all the time. I had to sing him to sleep.”

Jon smiled softly. “You were always good with little ones.” He wanted to ask her if she still wanted children but thought better of it. He didn’t think he wanted to know the answer either way.

*

Gilly delivered her baby much faster than anyone had suspected. She knew all about birthings; she’d helped her sisters dozens of times. She knew right when to push and right when to stop. Sam nearly fainted several times; men didn’t have the stomach for these things. The stronger sex indeed.

Jon was summoned to Sam’s family’s rooms to meet the newborn. He forced Sansa to come along for emotional support.

“I don’t know why you need me,” Sansa said. “It’s not as though an infant’s going to claw your eyes out.”

“I don’t understand how a woman can . . . _do that_. Especially now that I know how my mother died.”

Sansa stopped short. “That’s not your fault. You know that, don’t you?”

Jon managed a small smile and nodded. “I know. It’s just strange. Having another person in your body.” He shuddered.

Sansa gave him a look. “That happens all the time, thanks to you.”

Jon smiled. “You know what I mean. Aren’t you terrified?”

“Of what?”

“Having children.”

Sansa thought for a long moment. “I was terrified of having Joffrey’s children. I was terrified of having Ramsay’s.”

“That’s not quite what I meant.”

“I know what you meant,” said Sansa. “Come on.”

*

Sam took the baby from its mother and handed it to Jon. “Make sure you support the head. Like that. Well done.”

The baby had fat pink cheeks and tufts of dark hair. His mouth formed a perfect O when he yawned.

Jon looked up at his friend. “He’s beautiful, Sam.”

Sam grinned. “He’s all right. I hope he ends up looking more like my brother than me. Tall and . . . not quite so fat.”

Jon chuckled.

“His name is Jon,” Sam said after a moment.

Jon’s eyes widened. “You named your son for me?”

“What else would we name him?” Sam said. “But now you’ll have to name one of your sons for me, of course. it’s only fair.”

“Can you take him?” Jon asked a nurse. She lifted the little bundle from his arms, and Jon embraced his friend.  “What would you have named a girl?”

“I knew it would be a boy,” Gilly said from the bed.

“How?”

“Mothers know these things. You’ll see one day.”

Everyone seemed to think Jon ought to start having children. Gilly was far from the first to insinuate it.

Sam’s face brightened. “Lady Sansa.”

She’d appeared in the doorway with the hopes of ending the dragging silence that permeated the room. “Congratulations. The servants told me you have a healthy new son.”

The nurse holding Young Jon set the baby down in Sansa’s arms before she had time to protest.

Sansa was somehow more uncomfortable than Jon had been. “I don’t know how to hold him,” she said.

“You’re doing it just right,” Gilly assured her.

Sansa’s stomach tied itself up in knots the longer she looked down at the babe. Feelings stirred inside her.  She had once wanted a child so badly. She managed to swallow back the lump in her throat and managed a smile. “What a handsome young lad. Little Sam must be thrilled to have a brother.”

She could hardly hear herself over the blood rushing through her ears.

*

Gendry shifted from foot to foot as he watched Arya shooting at a straw effigy. “Did you hear Gilly’s had her baby?”

“Yes.”

Gendry cleared his throat. “It got me thinking. I’m a lord now. The last Baratheon. I’ve a duty to my people. And Daenerys, I suppose, for legitimizing me.”

“What duty is that?”

Gendry hesitated. She must know what he was talking about. “I ought to have a lady. Children.”

“I suppose you do.”

Was she really going to make him say it? “I want you to be my lady. Lady of Storm’s end,” he clarified.

“I’m not a lady,” Arya said simply.

“Well, you are. Technically. Lady Stark. I want you to be Lady Baratheon.”

“No.”

“What?”

Arya sighed and lowered her bow. “I don’t want to be your lady, Gendry. And I won’t swear myself to anyplace but the North.”

“So you’ll be staying in Winterfell?”

“I’ll stay or go wherever Sansa asks.”

*

Dany opened the door without knocking. Sansa’s bare back was facing the door as a handmaid helped tie her corset. Her long hair lay on one shoulder, and Daenerys could clearly see the bite mark where the back of Sansa’s neck met her shoulder.

Male animals bite females’ necks while they breed to keep them still. Dany understood then.

She hadn’t heard very much about Ramsey Bolton except that he tortured Theon, killed Rickon, and forced Sansa into marriage. That was the kind way to phrase it.

Sansa generally wore conservative gowns, especially now that it was winter, so no one ever saw the marks on her body. But Dany saw now.

She steeled herself against any pity or sympathy she had for the girl. She couldn’t show weakness, for Sansa certainly did not. The Northerner would attack the queen as soon as she got the chance. Dany couldn’t give her the chance.

“I think we’ll have to use a different corset. This one doesn’t want to tie up.” Sansa’s maid was so startled when she saw Dany that she nearly screamed. “Your grace.”

Dany smiled at the girl. “I wonder if I might have a moment alone with your mistress.”

Sansa nodded at the servant, who curtseyed again and scampered off. Sansa’s gown was still half-open but she wasn’t troubled by it. “Your grace. What a pleasant surprise.”

Dany made a sound to confirm that she heard Sansa’s comment. “You’re aware that I will be leaving in a few days.”

“Yes.”

“Your brother wants to wait a few more weeks before joining me.”

“Yes. The men need their rest,” Sansa said. “We’ve been at war for a long time now.”

Dany was quick to change the subject. “Lord Varys informed me that you are aware of my dragons’ misbehavior.”

“Forgive me, your grace, but I wouldn’t call burning and eating a pair of orphans misbehavior.”

Daenerys smiled. “I would like to thank you for keeping the information to yourself. It would only cause trouble. Our warriors fought together on the field of battle. I would hate for them to fight each other.”

“As would I.”

Dany took a step forward. “I will care for and protect the Northerners _so long as they are my people._ Do you understand?”

Sansa pulled her lips into a thin smile. “Perfectly.”

Dany smiled. “Good.” She took her leave.

Sansa’s maid slipped through the open door and took up tying Sansa’s bodice again.

“Ow!” Sansa gasped, instinctively bringing her hands up to her sore breasts. “Be careful.”

“Apologies, milady, but I don’t think it will fit.” Sansa gave her a harsh look. “Your. . . _chest_ , milady. It’s grown.”

“Grown,” Sansa repeated.

“And your feet, too,” the girl added cautiously. “And you’ve been feeling ill –”

“Go,” Sansa said. “I’ll finish up myself. Thank you.”

The maid slipped away. Sansa removed her bodice and skirts to examine her body in the mirror.

She was breathless when she noticed there were curves in places they had never been before.

The chambermaid was right. Sansa’s body was changing.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mommy stuff
> 
> Also posted a shitty Robb/OC Fic if anybody’s interested 
> 
> Happy fourth!!!

The morning of the queen’s departure was bleak, as most mornings had been since her arrival. The sky was blanketed with thick grey clouds, but at least the snows had let up for the time being.

There was no love lost between the queen’s army and the North’s. each group hoped never to see the other again, though given the palpable tension between Dany and Sansa, that seemed rather unlikely. First things first, though: Dany had to take King’s Landing if she ever wanted to call herself a queen.

Sansa didn’t favor one queen over the other. Cersei murdered her family and abused Sansa at each turn. Dany hadn’t killed any Starks yet, but the family didn’t have people to spare. And Dany was certainly capable of it.

She made many veiled threats not only to Sansa, but the North. She implied that she would invade if the Northerners declared for their freedom again. The Unsullied wouldn’t be much of a problem, since they didn’t know the landscape. And they clearly weren’t cut out for fighting in the could; their teeth chattered the whole time they were in residence at Winterfell.

The dragons would be an issue, especially since Dany knew Winterfell now. They’d have to make a stand from one of the other keeps, one that the dragon queen had never laid eyes on.

Sansa hated that she was already thinking about another war.

 _I’m tired of fighting,_ Jon said _.  It’s all I’ve done since I left home_.

Sansa was tired, too, but unlike Jon, she never thought of giving up. It never even crossed her mind.

*

The snows had cleared enough for the armies to march and for Bran to visit the Heart Tree. That’s where Jon found him before the midday meal.

“Jon.” Bran smiled the slightest bit. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

Jon sat on a rock across from his brother’s chair. “You were expecting me?”

“For nearly two months now. I thought you’d come as soon as the battle ended.”

Jon shifted uncomfortably. “Then you know what I want to ask you about.”

“Of course. You want me to tell you about your mother.”

*

“Ginger tea,” Arya said, setting the cup down before her sister. “I heard it settles the stomach.”

Sansa looked up. She hadn’t even noticed Arya walk through the open door to her solar. “You’ve never brought me tea before,” she said suspiciously.

“You never really needed it.” Arya sat down across the table from her sister. “Something’s wrong with you.”

“I’m actually quite well now that the dragon queen is gone.”

“That’s not what I meant. Physically.”

“I’m ill,” Sansa said, indicating the mug in front of her. “You said so yourself.”

“I didn’t say you were sick,” Arya countered. “I said you had an upset stomach.”

Sansa folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. “In any case, thank you for the tea.”

“You’re pregnant,” Arya said. “Aren’t you?”

Sansa shrugged. “I’m late in my courses. They’ve never been regular.”

“Does Jon know?”

“There’s nothing to know.”

Arya leaned back and looked Sansa over. The redhead kept her focus on the papers before her. “I want to go to King’s Landing,” Arya said after a beat.

Sansa raised her eyebrows. “And fight for the Targaryen?”

“I fight for myself. I fight for us.”

“You want to kill Cersei,” Sansa said blankly.

“Yes. Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t think you’ll get the chance.”

“Why not?”

“Someone else will likely get to her first. Or she’ll get away.”

Arya looked at her, bemused. “Do you remember who I killed?” Littlefinger, the Freys, the Night King himself.

“You can’t kill everyone.”

“Isn’t that a shame?”

*

 _Beautiful and willful and dead before her time_.

That was the only thing Jon had ever heard about Lyanna Stark.

Ned had promised to tell Jon all about his mother before they split ways forever. Jon knew he meant to keep his promise if only he got the chance.

Ned never talked about his sister. They’d always assumed it was because it hurt him too much. He was too late to save her. And maybe that was true. But Jon was sure part of it was to protect his son.

That’s likely why he kept Jon and the king apart. Robert didn’t suspect anything, of course, but Ned wouldn’t want to take the risk.

“She looked like all the other Starks. Dark hair and brown eyes. Quite a lot like you. Though her hair wasn’t curly like yours.”

Jon was unspeakably jealous that Bran could simply conjure up an image of Lyanna in his mind, see every feature and imperfection, while Jon had to satisfy himself with mere words. He’d never know his mother’s face.

Robb always said that they would go south one day, all the way to Dorne where Jon was born. They’d find his mother. Jon could ask her all his questions.

“She wore trousers a lot. Like Arya. She sometimes fought with boys.”

Jon smiled. “She fought?”

“She rescued Lord Reed from bullies during the tourney at Harenhal. That’s how he and Father became friends.”

Jon nodded. He didn’t care about the Reeds. There was only one question on his mind.

“Did she want me?” He hardly recognized his own voice.

“She wanted you,” Bran said. “She’d never been so excited in all her life.”

Tears rose in Jon’s eyes. He clenched his jaws and swallowed to keep them back.

“You’re what kept her alive after Rhaegar died.”

He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He broke down, sobbing like a child, his whole body shaking with the intensity of it.

“My mother never hated you,” Bran said. “I think you ought to know that.”

Jon knit his brows together.

“When you were younger, you had the pox. She prayed over your bed until you were well again.”

That brought on a fresh wave of tears.

Catelyn didn’t hate him, then. Jon dared to think she might have loved him, though he knew that wasn’t true.

*

Sansa stood on the parapets overlooking Wintertown. Some of the more optimistic townspeople were moving back into their homes. The break in the snow had them hoping the worst was over, but they’d also thought that the death of the Night King meant winter was over.

But winter was here, and if it wasn’t here, it was coming. It was always coming.

Didn’t father ever get tired of it? No, she supposed not. He and Sansa were just alike in that way. Getting tired wasn’t an option.

Four Starks left, including Jon. It was their duty to carry on. It would be five Starks soon.

Sansa damned herself for the thought. She wasn’t pregnant. She couldn’t be. She didn’t have room for a child in her life, room for another weakness.

And what about the Northern lords? What would they think of their liege lady popping out some bastard? Whose would they think it was? If anybody guessed Littlefinger, she’d have to set them straight. He never touched her. She didn’t want them to think he did.

But if she told them it was Jon’s child, then she’d have to tell them about his parentage. The people would turn on him. He’d proven his loyalty to Daenerys. If they found out the two shared blood . . .

*

Sansa found Jon when she returned to her chambers for a nap. She was tired all the time now.

He sat at the wooden table with a full goblet of ale before him. It seemed as though he’d just forgotten to drink it. There was a faraway look in his eyes. He gazed at the wash bin and the small mirror above it, but he didn’t seem to see anything.

“Jon?”

It took a long time for him too look at her. He had to draw himself out of his thoughts.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nothing.” There were tears in his eyes and the slightest smile on his face. “Will you come sit with me for a while?”

“Of course.”

He opened his arms and pulled Sansa onto his lap. She rested her head against his shoulder as he rubbed her side. “My mother loved me,” he said at last. “She wanted me.”

“Of course, she loved you, Jon.” She ran her thumb over the scars by his eyes. “She was your mother. You were her baby.”

Jon shook his head again; little tears fell from his eyes. “I just thought . . . nobody ever wanted me.”

Sansa straightened up. “ _I_ want you. You’re mine.” A lump started forming in her throat. “All the sadness of your childhood – that’s over now. You are loved.” Tears started falling from her eyes.

 _Tell him_. It would make him so, so happy. He would want this baby. He would dispel all of Sansa’s fears with a smile and a touch. He’d be frightened, too, there was no doubt about that, but he would be happy. She just knew it.

But she couldn’t tell him. He was going south to fight for another woman. There would be no use in asking him to stay, and he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. He would tell Dany. Sansa didn’t want to think about how she’d react.

And it was easier to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Jon pulled her tight against him as they both cried. Jon pulled himself together faster than Sansa did. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s all right now. All the bad things are over.”

She sniffled, keeping her face buried in the side of his neck. “Jon.”

“Don’t cry. I know how to make you smile again.” He held Sansa against him with one arm while his free hand started pulling up Sansa’s skirts. He rubbed her knee and thigh for a while to comfort her. He whispered gentle words in her ear.

 _Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, don’t go. I need you._ We _need you. What if you die? What if she steals you away? I can’t lose you._

Sansa couldn’t say any of it, though the words tried to claw their way out of her throat.

It would be selfish to tell him. He would only be conflicted about leaving. And he needed to go to Dragonstone. There would be hell to pay if he didn’t.

And Sansa’s baby would be the first casualty.

She kept her arms around his shoulders as the tears slowed down.

Jon was cried out for the moment, so he had no problem returning to his role as comforter. He assumed Sansa was crying because he would be leaving soon.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered to her. His hand moved to massage the inside of her thigh. It wasn’t sexual – yet – just calming. The comfort of skin against skin. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry. You should’ve been loved. Just because you were a bastard –”

Just like the baby inside her.

Oh gods, what was she going to do?

“You love me now. My mother loved me. father loved me. and Arya and the boys. I’m not sad, Sansa.”

She sniffled, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Good. You shouldn’t be sad.”

He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to look in her eyes. “Neither should you. I’ll come back.” She nodded. His hand went back between her legs and rubbed the inside of her thighs for a while before moving higher to play with her slick folds.  “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

She snuggled against his chest as he touched her. She whimpered his name; he hushed her, promising it would all be okay soon enough. That he would be back soon. She’d hardly have time to miss him.

He carried over to the bed and set her down. He pulled away to gaze down at her for a moment, even though she kept reaching for him. “You’re so lovely. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real.”

Sansa’s dress was pulled down to expose her breasts and pulled up to expose her center. She kept the fabric bunched up around her midsection to hide the changes there. She was still flat, more or less. Jon would just think she’d eaten too much if he saw her there. But she didn’t want to take the chance.

Jon was soft and gentle. He knew Sansa needed extra care today. Besides, he liked going slow. He could savor the moment, study every detail so that when he left, the memory would sustain him.

His thrusts were slow but powerful. They were both reluctant to close their eyes, trying to memorize each other’s faces, but it became too difficult. Sansa whispered Jon’s name over and over with each wave of pleasure that rolled through her. Jon couldn’t speak.

Sansa pulled Jon down on top of her when they were finished, his weight bearing her deep into the bed. Each one held the other as close as they could. They wanted to become one being, inseparable. Forever.

Jon couldn’t keep his voice down as he reached fulfillment. He called out Sansa’s name.

She didn’t finish. It was like the first time they made love: She needed to see him and feel him to know that he was real. She didn’t want to miss a moment of the experience, not even to release the tension building between her legs.

 

Sansa watched him as he slept, his soft lips parted as he took in deep breaths. She dared to touch her belly, the place where their baby grew.

She pushed down on the soft skin and encountered a hardness there she’d never felt before. She poked it again and the strangest sort of tingling sensation spread through her.

Jon ought to feel it, ought to kiss their unborn baby. ought to hold Sansa as tight as he possibly could and promise that nothing bad would ever happen to their child. He wouldn’t be betrayed like Robb or Father, and he wouldn’t be dangled like chum as Rickon was.

He – she – would live to a ripe old age and die peacefully surrounded by family and friends. He or she would be _happy_.

Sansa couldn’t keep her tears back. She was surprised that she had any left.

She tugged her lower lip with her teeth to keep from waking Jon.

*

 

Sansa was up and out long before Jon opened his eyes. He had to brief the men today on their plan; they were leaving the day after tomorrow. He tried to calculate how many men he could leave behind to protect Sansa and Bran and the others residing in Winterfell.

Sansa counted and recounted their provisions. The soldiers would take a fair amount with them down to Dragonstone. They’d need to eat on the boats, and she doubted Daenerys payed as much attention to provisions as she.

She summoned Brienne late in the afternoon. She looked out at the courtyard from her bedroom window. Gilly and Sam were teaching Little Sam how to touch Little Jon without hurting him. They looked so _happy_.

There was a knock at her chamber door.

“Come in,” she called.

Brienne shut the door quietly behind her. “My lady,” she said, bowing. “How may I be of service?”

“I want you to go with Jon when he leaves.”

Brienne lowered her eyebrows as she tried to work through her mistress’s statement.  “You want me to fight for Daenerys?”

“I want you to protect Jon.” Sansa swallowed hard. Something changed in Brienne’s expression. She understood what Sansa wasn’t saying. “Bring him back to me.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I'll be posting again cause it's my birthday this week.

“You didn’t tell him,” Arya said. She and her sister stood atop the ramparts, watching Jon and the others ride off into the distance.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Jon tends to make foolish decisions when his emotions are high. His judgment can’t be clouded while he’s down there. And he’d likely tell Daenerys. Honor would compel him,” she said, nearly rolling her eyes.

Arya smiled. “Father was the most honorable man in the world and he kept a secret. Jon should look to him.”

“He does,” Sansa says. “His jerkin is just like the ones Father and Robb used to wear. He wears his hair like father’s, too, sometimes.”

“You’ve been wearing your hair like Mother,” Arya said softly. “I wonder, if you have a daughter, will she start dressing like me?”

Sansa sighed. “I can’t think that far ahead.” She still didn’t want to talk about it. She accepted that she was pregnant, but she hadn’t sorted it all out.

 “Do you want it?” Arya asked eventually. “I never asked you.”

Grey clouds were gathering overhead. A new storm was brewing. Something was always brewing.

“Yes,” Sansa said at length. “It just came at a very bad time.”

*

Jon stared up at the ceiling as he took stock. The ship swayed back and forth with the tide; he had to concentrate very hard to keep from vomiting.

Arya would fight in King’s Landing, but she refused to stop off at Dragonstone with the others. She’d ride down in a few days once she knew Sansa would be all right without her.

Brienne and Podrick had followed Jon onto the ship. Brienne explained that Sansa asked her to look after him while he was in the south. She didn’t say anything else.

There were less than two thousand Northern soldiers sailing to Dragonstone. Surely Dany wouldn’t mind that he’d left most of his troops in the North where they belonged.

Sansa would need them to help her take Deepwood Motte if Lord Glover was still alive.

Sansa. The slightest thought of her made his heart ache. She’d been stoic since they reunited at Castle Black; Jon knew how much it meant that she had let him in.

She was so distraught before he left. She was trembling as they embraced. She blamed it on the chill for appearance’s sake, but Jon knew the real reason. She must be terrified down to the marrow if she ordered Brienne and Pod to follow Jon.

He whispered in her ear that he loved her. He would be home soon.

She didn’t whisper anything back.

He and Arya didn’t say a proper goodbye since they knew they’d be meeting again in the capital. And Arya hated goodbyes.

Bran didn’t even raise his arms to embrace his older brother. “Come back safely,” he said. “You’re needed here.”

That comment unnerved Davos more than it did Jon. The former king had grown used to his brother’s cryptic comments. And he assumed Bran was talking about Sansa needing him – which he was, though not in the way Jon guessed.

Jon shut his eyes against the roiling in his stomach and tried to focus on good things.

It was easier said than done.

It was as though there was a rock in his stomach. He didn’t want to see Daenerys. The Boltons were gone, the Freys were gone, the White Walkers were gone. He just wanted to rest now.

He wanted to get old and fat with Sansa in his arms. For a moment there it all seemed possible.

But he’d already been resurrected once before, and the Starks were never safe in the south, and nobody was safe around Daenerys.

He rolled onto his side and tried to picture Sansa lying beside him.

*

 “Where will you go when this is all over?” Brienne asked. She and Davos were on the deck of the lead ship, forearms pressed against the rails as they looked out on the water.

“Where will I go?” Davos repeated. “I really hadn’t thought about it. Maybe sail to Essos. Find those red priests and ask them what the fuck is going on.”

“You don’t see yourself staying in the North?

“I don’t know. I like Jon Snow, but I don’t think he’ll have much use for me. I’m happier by the water anyway.” Davos straightened up and removed his leather gloves. He didn’t mind that Brienne was looking at the nubs where his fingers once were. “What about you, Brienne of Tarth? How long do you think you can stay away from your sapphire island?”

“I’m sure Lady Sansa will allow me to visit. But I doubt it’ll be anytime soon.”

“She sent you down here to look after Jon.”

“Yes.”

“She must be very concerned.”

“I would imagine so.”

Brienne’s loyalty was unparalleled. She didn’t give Davos – or Jon, for that matter – any indication of her true purpose. Was she sent to kill Daenerys? Kill Cersei? It seemed very unlikely that she was dispatched _just_ to look after Jon. He decided to keep his ears open.

*

Sansa jumped into her work right away. Her first priority was investigating the Glover holding for survivors and supplies.

Bran confirmed that the Glovers and most of their vassals were still alive; the Night King seemed to have forgotten about Deepwood Motte. Robett Glover was still Lord of Deepwood Motte, but he had a grown son with a family who could inherit his title. That was important to Sansa; it would be a shame to end another ancient bloodline, even one as fickle as the Glovers.

“Perhaps we should send a raven ahead,” Maester Wolkan suggested.

“What for?” asked Arya.

“To give them the chance to surrender. To let this all end in peace.”

Sansa shook her head. “Lord Glover is too smart for that. He’ll reinforce his defenses. He knows our purpose is to execute him for oath-breaking.”

Arya smirked. Sansa was born to rule.

Sansa turned to her sister. “I assume you won’t be coming,” she said. “You’ll have to go to King’s Landing soon if you want to be there for the battle. Ser Brodick will be my Justice.”

Arya waved the maester away. “Do you know what Father told the boys about execution? He said the man who passed the sentence should swing the sword.”

“I doubt I can even raise a sword over my head. Neither can you.” Sansa smiled. “You’re far too small.”

“I killed the Night King.”

“That doesn’t make you any taller.”

They smiled at each other.

Arya’s face returned to a frown. “They’ll name you their queen as soon as they get the chance. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And the dragon queen will come straight up –”

“She’ll come whether I’m queen or not,” Sansa said. “She wants Jon to be _hers_. She doesn’t share. She hates me anyway. My relationship with Jon will just give her that last push over the edge.” Sansa didn’t show fear. Her tone was cool. “She’ll come to kill me.”

Arya looked out at the moors again. “I don’t think she’ll wait until your baby’s born. It’ll likely make her act faster.”

 _Your baby_. That still seemed strange.  It still only seemed like an idea. There was nothing concrete to prove that there was a child inside her, only the slightest lump between her hips.

Would it seem real when her belly was the size of a house? When it kicked her stomach and pressed on her lungs?

She told Arya the truth when she said that she wanted it.  Loved it, even. But it didn’t seem real. Not in the slightest.

“Yes,” Sansa said. “She will move much faster.”

“Is it too much to hope that she and Cersei will kill each other?”

“Lady Sansa!” Maester Wolkan hurried over to her, clutching the hem of his robes. “Lord Bran has had a vision.”

The party made their way down to the heart tree. Bran’s eyes had rolled back so that only the whites were visible.

“She’s trying to negotiate a surrender,” he said.

“Daenerys?” Sansa asked.

“It won’t work. Cersei has Missandei,” Bran continued.

“Is Jon there?” Sansa asked.

“She won’t let her go.”

Sansa put her hand over her brother’s. “Bran, where is Jon?”

The silence dragged on for long moments before Bran spoke again.

“ _Dracarys_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started posting my shitty Robb/OC fic if anybody's interested. Still miss him.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline is gonna get a little screwy cause I need Sansa to give birth at a specific time. Don't worry, it'll still be coherent.

A raven came to Winterfell the next day with a letter in Tyrion’s handwriting. It told them what they already knew: Rhaegal was dead. Missandei was dead. Daenerys had shut herself away.

Arya left within an hour of receiving the message.

“Be careful,” Sansa said. “She’s unstable. She may hate me, but she doesn’t like you, either.”

“You should be careful, too. Lord Glover won’t go down without a fight.” Arya put her hand over her sister’s belly. “And watch out for my little niece or nephew. Don’t misplace her.”

The sisters grinned at each other and embraced.

*

“ _Jon_.” Sansa raised her hips to meet his thrusts.

Jon could hardly catch his breath. She was so warm and wet and sweet. Gods. No other woman in the world could compare.

He lowered his face to her chest to nip and suck her breasts. She arched her back to give him better access to her. “Jon, Jon, Jon, Jon.”

“Sansa.” He brought his hand down between her legs and teased her sensitive nub with his thumb. Her skin was like fire, burning him straight to his bones.

“Jon, Jon, Jon. I love you. _Jon_.”

He woke up sweating, his thighs and lower stomach splattered with his seed.  He tossed the covers off and pulled himself up into a seated position on the edge of the bed. His heart was still racing.

Two days since he left home. Only two days. His every thought was of Sansa. Her smooth, straight hair and bright blue eyes and plush flesh.

How long was this going to take? He hoped Cersei would give over to Daenerys, though he knew she wouldn’t. He didn’t want to fight, especially with Sansa in the back of his mind. It would be putting her in danger somehow.

He couldn’t even think about her when Daenerys was around. Dany would know. Somehow. She would know.

There was a knock at Jon’s cabin door.

“Lord Snow? It’s Podric. Brienne and Davos sent me to fetch you. A raven’s come from Dragonstone.”

“A raven?” Jon said to himself. “I’ll be up in a moment,” he called.

Brienne, Davos, Podric, and the two highest-ranking soldiers were gathered in a loose circle near the mast.

“I’ve never heard of a raven coming to a ship,” Brienne said.

“What’s going on?” Jon asked.

Davos held the paper out to Jon, who tried to read Davos’s expression before taking the paper. “Her two closest friends are dead now. And one of her dragons, too,” Davos said. “We should all be aware when we arrive.”

Brienne watched Jon’s face fall as he read the note. “We should all be weary anyway.”

“How far off are we?” asked Jon.

“Half a day. Maybe less,” Davos replied.

“Tell the men to prepare themselves. Keep a weapon handy at all times.”

*

Sansa decided to only bring a handful of soldiers with her to Deepwood Motte. She brought a member of each noble house to bear witness to Lord Glover’s trial. His execution would prove Sansa’s devotion to her people – and deter any other nobles from breaking their oaths.

She was determined not to stop moving until they reached the holding. The part rode for some six hours without rest. Sansa and Alyss Karstark shared a carriage. They spoke very little.

Alyss was a few years older than Sansa. She was quiet but possessed a sharp mind and great patience. She and Sansa quite liked each other, despite Sansa’s former distrust of the Karstarks.

The journey was much faster than anticipated. The gates to the holding were open, and the party filed into the courtyard. Lord Glover’s heir stood alone at the center.

Brodick helped Sansa from the carriage; she made a beeline for the lord.

“My lady,” he said, bowing. “My name is Gawen Glover. I’m relieved to see you unharmed after the battle.” He turned to address the other nobles. “All of you.”

“I am surprised to see your castle in such a state,” Sansa said.

What state? “My lady?”

“Untouched. The Night King and his army rolled over Last Hearth and killed everyone within.”

Gawen’s composure cracked the slightest bit. “Lord Umber?” He was only twelve or thirteen, and he was the last of his house.

“Dead,” Sansa said coldly. “Lyanna Mormont, too. A girl of ten years fought against the White Walkers. She lost her life slaying a giant.”

An uncomfortable silence permeated the air. The other nobles glared down from their horses.

Gawen attempted a polite smile. “Please, come inside. You must be hungry.”

*

Varys and Tyrion were waiting on the beach when Jon and the others came in. Tyrion didn’t even say hello before launching into his long-winded explanation of Missandei’s death and the effect it had on their queen. Not to mention the death of another of her children.

Jon lagged behind the group. He needed to prepare himself for what was to come, to push all other things from his mind. That was easier said than done.

He hardly noticed Varys walking beside him.

“I understand you discovered your mother’s identity,” he said.

Jon stopped mid-stride. “What?”

“I can’t imagine your confliction. Over two decades spent wondering, and when you finally do find out, it changes everything you thought you knew.” Jon stared at him for a long moment before Varys resumed walking. “I was the Master of Whispers under three different kings. It’s my business to know other people’s secrets even before they know themselves.”

Jon set his jaw and started walking again. He couldn’t think of anything to say in response.

He was properly fucked now. Dany was losing her mind, Varys knew about Jon’s parents, and Sansa was distant, both physically and emotionally. She behaved so strangely just before he left, and for the life of him, he didn’t know why.

“I was acquainted with your father,” Varys continued. “I would be happy to tell you about him. The sort of man he was.”

“He’s not my father, and I don’t want to know anything about him,” Jon said simply. The scowl on his face had somehow gotten deeper.

He already knew what sort of man Rhaegar Targaryen was. He abandoned his wife and children, leaving them to be raped and murdered in their own home. And he didn’t give a damn.

That was sickening to him. A man never abandons his family regardless of the reason. Everything Ned and Robb had done was to protect their family. Sansa and Arya were protecting the family. Jon wasn’t any good at it, he thought, but at least he tried. And he knew beyond a doubt that he would never leave his wife or child defenseless.

“For whatever it’s worth, you were a fine king. You could be so again.”

Brienne slowed her stride to walk beside Jon, effectively shoving Varys away. “You don’t look well,” she said to Jon. “Are you ill?”

“Yes.” He figured that was the best way to end the conversation.

*

There were half a dozen servants in the great hall waiting to serve the nobles. There were no other Glovers, nor any sign that they had been there.

Sansa willed herself not to vomit when the servants brought out fatty geese for their guests to eat. Why hadn’t she packed the damn herbs Maester Luwin gave her?

Gawen knit his brows when he saw the expression on her face. “Are you ill, my lady?”

“Where is your father?” she asked abruptly. The other lords and ladies slowed their eating to watch the exchange. “We know he is alive, and we know he is an oath-breaker. Is he a coward as well?”

Lord Glover appeared at the top of the staircase that led down to the hall. “I won’t be insulted in my own home.”

Gawen stood. “Father.”

“Lord Glover,” Sansa greeted.

“Sansa Stark. I half expected Jon and the dragon queen would be here. But of course he’s gone south for his lover.”

Sansa bristled. Dany wasn’t Jon’s lover. She was still something to him, even though she hated to admit it, but she wasn’t Jon’s lover. That was that.

“I’m surprised you came out,” she said.

“I’m not a coward. I’d give my life for the North and its true ruler, but Daenerys Targaryen is not a Northerner, nor is she the true ruler.”

“You swore to fight for _Jon_. It was _Jon_ who called upon you.”

“He’s not my king.”

*

Jon stayed in the same room as last time. Davos did, too. It had once truly been his room back when Stannis was lord. Maybe he’d live there again once everything was over; he hoped Daenerys might make a gift of it once she’d finished with it, but he wouldn’t wager money on it.

Brienne’s room was just across the way from Jon’s, and Pod’s was only a few doors down. She insisted on staying close. She would not let Sansa down, especially now she knew about the baby. Jon was more or less himself, so she knew that he didn’t know.

Sansa hadn’t given her instructions either way. Brienne would tell Jon if and when he needed to know. The real question was whether or not to tell Pod. He’d be knighted soon enough, especially now that Brienne had the power to do so, and he’d likely pledge himself to Sansa as well. Or maybe Lord Tyrion.

Jon’s party ate a quiet supper in the hall. It was woefully empty – no Dothraki, no Unsullied, not even Tyrion and Varys.

“Sansa sent you to look after me,” Jon eventually said.

“Yes.”

“And you?” Jon asked Pod.

“I go where Ser Brienne does.”

“Are you going to pledge for my sister when you’re a full knight?”

“I don’t know, my lord.”

It was silent again. Pod didn’t know anything, but Davos and Jon knew that Brienne was holding back. Jon didn’t have the time or the energy to bother her about it. But Davos simply had to know.

*

They’d all assembled in the courtyard. Lord Glover kept his hands folded behind his back as Sansa condemned him to death.

“Robett Glover, you stand accused as an oath-breaker. You failed to fight for the North against House Bolton. You failed to fight for the North against the White Walkers. You were forgiven once. You shall not be forgiven again.”

“I did not betray the North. My only crime is refusing to bow to a foreign queen.”

Sansa raised her chin slightly. “I did not bend the knee to Daenerys Stormborn, nor did any of the lords you see before you. The crime of which you stand accused is treason. How do you answer these charges?”

“I broke my oaths. I admit it. But I would rather die than bow to a false queen.”

“So would I,” Sansa says.

Glover huffed. “Right, then. Let’s get on with it. If you don’t kill me, the Targaryen will, and I’d rather be beheaded than burned.”

Gawen rushed forward. He looked to be the same age as Robb was when he died. “Father, please. Will you not make a plea for your life?”

The lord glared at his only son. “You’ll be lord of this castle by nightfall. I stand behind my actions. You must, too.”

Sansa spoke up, “If you have any last words, my lord, now is the time.”

Lord Glover moved in close to her; several warriors reached for their swords, but Sansa didn’t even flinch.

His eyes flickered down to her stomach and back up to her eyes. “That’s Jon Snow’s bastard in your belly, isn’t it?”

What? How did he see? How did he notice? No one had noticed. She thought she hid her belly with flowing dresses and large cloaks. She knew she couldn’t keep it hidden forever - she must be five months along by now, if Luwin's calculations were correct - but she at least thought she had another few weeks to figure it out.

Oh, gods – was Lord Glover about to announce it to everyone? She’d have to explain Jon’s parentage, and that information was as likely to incite the nobles’ anger as it was to quell it.

But Lord Glover just stepped back into the center of the yard. “I’m ready.”

*

Davos cornered Brienne after the others had gone to bed. She was looking down at the beach from a large window. Daenerys stood in the shallows, watching her only surviving child fly. Her hair was loose, something that not even Jon had seen before.

“She’s not well,” Davos said.

“I didn’t think she would be,” said Brienne. “Her friends are dead.”

“Everybody’s got dead friends,” Davos replied. He supposed Brienne didn’t, though, except for Renly Baratheon and Catelyn Stark. But they weren't really her friends.

“No one has said anything about her plans to march on the capital,” Brienne said after a moment.

Davos took note of how lovely Brienne looked in the moonlight – blue eyes brighter than Sansa’s and hair paler than Dany’s. He wasn’t attracted to her – he hadn’t been attracted to anyone since his wife died – but he understood why Tormund worshipped at her feet. Her appearance was second to her bravery and skill, of course, but she was lovely all the same.

Brienne finally turned away from the window to look at him. “Have you?”

Davos shook his head. “No, I haven’t heard anything about the battle.”

Brienne frowned. “She seemed so eager when she left Winterfell.”

“Maybe Jon will get her back on course.” he watched Brienne’s reaction to his words for some clue about her motives. She only set her jaw. “Tell me truly: why did Lady Stark send you here?”

Brienne’s answer was measured. “It’s in all of our best interests to keep the queen complacent. She will kill Sansa. You and I both know that. All she needs is an excuse.”

“Does she have one?” Davos asked, his voice low.

“Not yet.”

*

Two servants carried Lord Glover’s body from the courtyard; a third carried his head.

Sansa leaned back in her seat. “Gawen Glover.”

The young man extricated himself from the grip of his wife and daughter and approached. He knelt before her. “I pledge myself and House Glover to House Stark, the Kings in the North. I pledge myself to you as my liege and to your issue thereafter. I am your humble servant.”

Sansa straightened up. “I, Sansa of House Stark, Lady of Winterfell, hereby declare Gawen Glover the lord of Deepwood Motte, and of the people residing thereabouts.”

The new Lord Glover bowed his head. “Thank you, your grace.”

He wasn’t the first person to call her that. He wouldn’t be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is SOOOOO intense! I'm so excited to post it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait to post this but I am far too excited! Shorter than usual, but shit's happening!

Sansa and her party remained at Deepwood Motte for another two days before returning to Winterfell; Gawen Glover joined them to discuss the issue of the Targaryen woman.

“The dragon queen has lost her mind,” Lord Manderley said. “Her friends are dead, her dragon is dead. I doubt she’ll even march on King’s Landing now.”

“She will,” someone said. “She’ll destroy every bit of it. And then she’ll turn her eyes North!” The crowd grumbled angrily.  “We have to make a battle plan.”

“We have to wait for Jon Snow’s return,” a lord said, shaking his head.

“Jon is not our king anymore,” said another. “He is loyal to the Targaryen!”

“Enough!” Sansa snapped. “Jon is loyal to his people. To the North. If you question his loyalty, you question mine.”

Silence fell over the room.

The new Lord Glover swallowed hard and pushed his chair back to stand. “Jon Snow, though loyal and brave, was not meant to be our king. My father put his faith in the wrong man,” Glover said. “He should have put it in a woman. They’re far wiser than we are.” He got down on one knee. “I would have Sansa Stark as my queen, and I would have her children rule mine.”

Sansa held her hand up to silence the lords in the hall, who were already drawing their swords to pledge them to her.  “My lords, my ladies,” she began. “There are things you must know before you declare for me.”

They all waited.

Sansa took a deep breath. “If you bow to me, you must bow to my successors – my children. Regardless of the man who sired them.” Everyone murmured agreement. Why would she bother to say what everyone assumed?  Perhaps she took a wildling as a lover or slept with Littlefinger before executing him. Perhaps she was carrying a child even now. It didn’t matter: her child would be a Stark.

Sansa continued, “Jon Snow is not Ned Stark’s son by blood. His true father is Rhaegar Targaryen. This mother is Lyanna Stark.”

A roar came up, outrage sweeping through the assembled lords. Anger. Betrayal. If only Bran were here to help explain.

She dreaded their reaction to her other news. But there was no use hiding it anymore.

“Listen! He didn’t know until the Night King came for us. He denounced Rhaegar and the Targaryen name, and he will do so again before us all.”

More grumbling.

Sansa continued, unaffected. “I won’t ask you to bow to him, but I would have him as my consort.” She didn’t give them a chance to react. “I’ve conceived a child by him.”

*

The Red Woman hadn’t left much behind to help Davos understand her god. There were a few loose papers with writing on them, but it was Valyrian. Davos’s head throbbed at the idea of even attempting to read it. He had enough trouble with the Common Tongue.

Varys knew a bit about the Lord of Light, but he wasn’t eager to share his information. Davos didn’t press it.

So Davos wandered about Melisandre’s chamber. There was a great case filled with jars and vials of all shapes and sizes. They contained powders and potions of all colors. Some of them had labels, all in Valyrian, of course.

Davos decided to take his chances. He plucked various bottles from the shelf and sniffed them. He even sprinkled some of the powders into his hand. He wasn’t burnt or blistered.

He didn’t know what he was expecting to happen when he started a fire in a bowl at the center of the room. Something to do with his son, ideally.

He needed to know that Matthis’s God gave a damn about him – he’d given his life for him, after all. Jon said there was nothing after life, but Davos refused to believe that. His wife and son little Shireen – they had to be _somewhere_.

He must’ve looked at the fire for nearly an hour. It only made his eyes water. There was nothing there to see.

He sighed heavily. “Damn it.”

Davos was almost at the door when he heard what sounded like a growl. He turned cautiously and walked back toward the flame.

And then he saw it. The wolf.

*

Jon had spent nearly two hours watching Daenerys. She was totally motionless as she stood knee-deep in the water, the waves crashing around her. Her gaze was fixed on the heavy moon above her. It looked swollen, ready to burst.

Jon finally walked onto the beach in the hopes of coaxing her back inside. “Dany,” he called from the edge of the water. “Dany, come –”

“There were two moons, once.” She did not turn around, nor even move a muscle. “They were eggs. One became so full that it hatched. And out poured a thousand, thousand dragons.”

Jon was silent. He realized that Dany was naked, though her long hair hid most of her body from view.

“ _It is known_ ,” she said to herself. She was silent for a long time; Jon finally opened his mouth to speak, but Dany cut him off. “I was going to name my son Rhaego, for my husband and my brother. Strong men. Great warriors.” She turned her head the slightest bit so she could see over her shoulder. “I lost him, of course. But then the gods gave me three new children. I named the second of them Rhaegal, again, for my eldest brother. Viserion for my other brother. Drogon for my husband.”

“I know,” Jon said.

“Would you name your child for Rhaegar?”

“No.” Jon’s response was firm and automatic. Rhaegar was an oath-breaker. He was disloyal. Jon hated being associated with him in any capacity.

Dany either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “For your brothers, then.”

“I don’t know. Come inside, Dany, it’s cold.”

“And if you had a daughter, would you name her for Lyanna?”

“I don’t know,” he said again. He was losing his patience. “Dany, come on.”

“You shouldn’t call me Dany anymore. I’m not your lover. I’m not your friend. I am your queen.” She didn’t sound angry, just distracted.

“All right, your grace. Please come inside.”

*

The fire took on a life of its own.

A white wolf made of smoke and a great dragon made of flame. The wolf lunged and became tangled up with the dragon. They both disappeared in a burst of embers; Davos had to shield his eyes.

Suddenly a red wolf rose up from the fire, its head tilted skyward in a great howl. There was a blindingly bright crown above it.

*

Alyss Karstark was the first to speak. She stood and rolled her shoulders back to keep her spine straight. “I don’t care who fathered her child. She is Ned Stark’s daughter. Her child has Ned Stark’s blood. I would have Sansa Stark as my queen, without exception and without end.”

“Aye!” people shouted.

“She had the chance to escape the men who tormented her, but she returned to Winterfell and defeated Ramsay Bolton. She protected us through the Long Night. I will stand with her against Daenerys Targaryen.” Alyss had no sword to draw, but she still fell to one knee.

“The Queen in the North!”

The others took up her cry. “The Queen in the North! The Queen in the North! The Queen in the North! The Queen in the North!”

*

Davos inched forward. It was as though the flames called to him, beckoning him closer, until he was less than an arm’s reach away.

He’d never heard of a red wolf before. Certainly not a monarch. It didn’t take him long to figure out what the wolf represented.

And then all at once the fire exploded, the force knocking Davos to the ground.

The flames rose to the ceiling. They were blue now, in the form of a great wolf. It ran toward something that Davos could not see.

*

Dany still didn’t turn around. Jon didn’t think it really mattered if he was there or not. Dany just needing to speak her thoughts aloud.

“I lost my parents before I even knew them – Rhaegar, too. I lost Viserys. I lost Drogo. I lost Ser Barristan. I lost Viserion. I lost –” she choked on the words “– Ser Jorah. I lost Rhaegal. Now I’ve lost Missandei, too.”

She finally turned around to face Jon. “I feel different now. I feel free.”

*

Davos hardly blinked. He couldn’t look away from the image before him.

The wolf’s mouth opened in a menacing snarl. Its form seemed to swallow up the room. It lunged forward and the flames disappeared all at once, plunging the room into darkness. There wasn’t even smoke left over.

Davos was still for a long moment, staring into the blackness as he gasped for breath.

“Oh, fuck me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the whole Lord of Light thing was bullshit, they defeated the Night King and then never mentioned it again, so I'm really playing it up with Davos.
> 
> Thank you guys for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is over 40k words which makes it novel length. How crazy is that? Also I've gotten over 500 kudos!   
> I'm so glad you guys like it!

It seemed Daenerys hadn’t left the beach in days. She stared at the sun and the moon and her dragon. She could ride him back to Essos. It would hardly take two days. Her people were there, the ones who loved and respected her. She missed them. And she was sure they missed her.

Mhysa, they called her. Mother. She couldn’t keep a child in her own body, but she had hundreds of thousands of children that relied on her. And she left them. Sailed west without a second thought. And for what?

She didn’t notice Tyrion approaching. He cleared his throat; Dany didn’t acknowledge him. “Your grace,” he said cautiously. Daenerys did not look at him. Her eyes were focused on Drogon as his wings skimmed the water. “I have something to report.”

She didn’t reply. He assumed she was listening.

“Jon Snow is not –”

“Not Ned Stark’s son. Yes, I know. He’s my brother’s child.” She turned slowly. “Do you have anything else to say? Something of importance, perhaps?”

Tyrion swallowed. “It concerns Lord Varys.”

*

Sansa was too tired to sleep. She could rest when she got back to Winterfell, she supposed. They were nearly there. Only another hour or two in this damn uncomfortable carriage and she would be home.

The last few days were full of excitement, which was something Wolkin and Gilly both told her to avoid during this period.

Alyss Karstark and two other noblewomen shared the carriage; all were fast asleep. Sansa was their queen now. But she wanted to be their friend, too. She hadn’t had proper friends in a long time.

She held her hand over her belly as she remembered the way each nobleman took a turn swearing his or her fealty to Sansa and her unborn child. These women were among the first.

Jon should be here. He should know about his child. She should’ve told him, she should’ve made him stay, she should’ve –

No. She did what she needed to do to protect Jon and the child both. But she still wanted him with her.

She looked out the carriage window and imagined how he would press his ear to her belly to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. How he would whisper to it when he thought she was asleep. How he’d constantly set his hand over the bump, eager to feel the first movements.

And he would smile all day long.  And he and Sansa would be wed. And he would be her one true husband.

*

Jon didn’t even try to sleep. His thoughts flickered back and forth from Dany to Sansa. Dany was unstable. Sansa was alone.

He’d give his right arm to be with her now. He thought of a conversation they had a few days before he left . . .

He leaned back in the bathtub with his eyes shut as Sansa ran a washcloth across his arms and shoulders.

“Your hair is entirely too long,” she said, coiling a strand around her finger. “Did you know that?”

Jon chuckled. “Not as long as yours. It’s a miracle you don’t trip over it.”

Sansa giggled. “Truly, though, Jon, when was the last time you had it cut?”

Jon thought for a moment. “The last I remember was when King Robert came to visit.”

Sansa burst into laughter as Jon turned to face her. “That was ages ago!”

“Robb said I never met I girl I liked better than my own hair.”

“Have you met one now?”

“Oh, aye. Much better.” He reached out and easily pulled Sansa into the tub; she shrieked out a laugh. She was still in her shift. Jon settled her on his lap. “And you? Do you like anybody better than your hair?”

She shook her head, grinning. “No, I don’t believe I do.”

Jon growled playfully. “You’ll pay for that!” She tried to slip away from him, still laughing, but he caught her by the waist and pulled her back. He held her against him with one arm while his free hand roamed between her thighs. Her red curls were soft, and he spent a few moments holding some between his fingers before he pushed them aside. o get to his target.

He teased her for a long time as she wriggled. “Jon, I need more.”

“This is your punishment,” he said. He brought her close to the edge, close to fulfilment. Her toes curled and her back arched and – Jon pulled his hand away.

“Jon!” she whined. “Please!”

He brought her to the edge two more times before he slipped two fingers inside her and stroked her most sensitive spot; the heel of his hand rubbed against her taught peak. He whispered in her ear, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes!”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes, yes!”

She nearly screamed when he finally let her release. Jon stopped moving his hand so he could feel her tighten around his fingers over and over. He thought that might be one of his favorite things in the world – holding her tight against him as she gave up all control. It meant she trusted him. That she felt safe.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered in her ear as she came down. “Sweet thing. I’m here.”

Later that night, they lay together in bed, talking about everything and nothing all at once. They fit against each other perfectly, like each one was designed to be in the other’s arms.

He wanted that now. That warmth. That safety. That joy. He _needed_ it. Sansa was the only person who could soothe him, and he needed to be soothed.

*

“Jon!” Davos called. Jon, who had just come out of his chambers for supper, turned to see his friend.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said.

“I saw something. In the fire. I saw –”

Grey Worm appeared at the end of the corridor with two other Unsullied behind him. He was more dour than usual since losing Missandei; no one could blame him. “Queen Daenerys requests your presence on the beach,” he barked out.

“What for?” Davos asked. His original thought flew out of his head.

“Lord Varys is to be executed,” Grey Worm said.

“On what charges?” asked Jon.

“Treason,” one of the other Unsullied said. His accent was much thicker than his commander’s. “He conspires to kill the queen.”

Davos shook his head. “You must be wrong.”

Jon was silent. Varys hadn’t said anything outright, but he did hint – Jon’s birthright, his temperance and mercy, the way his people respected him. Jon never replied.

He thought Varys was building a case for Jon to wed Dany. He never thought anything more of it.

*

It was rather dark by the time everyone had assembled, maybe ten o’clock. Dany kept them waiting for near two hours on the beach, even poor Varys.

The foreigner spoke quickly and quietly to Tyrion, who he knew had given him up. Varys didn’t seem bothered by it in the least.

“Jon Snow,” Varys called once he was done with Tyrion. Varys was seated on a great rock. He patted the spot beside him as an invitation for Jon to sit.

“My lord,” he said simply. He had a hard time hiding his distress.

“Daenerys won’t kill you regardless of what happens. We both know that,” he said. “But Sansa is another matter entirely. Things are happening. Things of great consequence. You must all remain on your guard.”

Jon nodded solemnly. He was referring to Sansa’s appointment as Queen in the North. It would happen soon, if it hadn’t already.

“Brienne?” Varys said simply.

She was glued to Jon’s back these days. She dipped her head. “My lord.”

“Your loyalty is greatly appreciated.”

Davos walked over just as the men rose to their feet.

“I’m sorry, Varys,” he said. “You’re a good man. Maybe if we spoke to the queen, she’d execute you by means other than her dragon.”

“No, no,” Varys said. “Though I do appreciate the thought. It’s doubtful Daenerys could be swayed, anyway. And I hear that death by fire is the purest death.”

A jolt went through Davos like lightning. _Death by fire is the purest death_. That’s what Melisandre said to Matthis before he died at Blackwater.

The Unsullied abruptly fell to their knees; Jon and his party turned to see Daenerys Stormborn step onto the beach. “Shall we begin?”

*

Jon stood beside Daenerys as she condemned Varys to death. There were no tears in the man’s eyes, but he shook terribly.

Tyrion stood on Dany’s other side, Grey Worm beside him. The other Weserosi stood in a loose semi-circle behind Jon. The Unsullied, over a hundred of them in attendance, maintained perfect rank. Their helmets were off, and their hands were folded behind their backs. They all wore matching scowls. Drogon stood directly behind his mother.

Dany was at least dressed today, and her hair was pulled into some semblance of a braid. It wasn’t as artistic and complex as the ones she usually wore; she had no ladies to attend on her anymore.

“If you have any last words, my lord, now is the time,” she said.

“I told you that I was loyal to the people first and foremost. I swore to tell you if I thought you were moving toward disaster,” said Varys. “You are moving toward disaster, your grace.”

Dany blinked several times before sighing out a command. “ _Dracarys_.”

Drogon slowly straightened up to his full height before leaning forward. Varys at least died quickly. He dropped to the ground, charred, almost immediately. The dragon screeched victoriously.

Daenerys turned to leave. “ _Ipradagon_ ,” she said quietly. Jon thought he saw Grey Worm smile.

Drogon lowered his head and swallowed Varys’s body whole.

Gendry ran behind a bolder to vomit. Tyrion swallowed hard; he stumbled further down the beach, away from the castle. Pod turned his back and took deep breaths to keep from gagging. Grey Worm and the other Dothraki and Unsullied didn’t even blink before marching off.

Jon just stood there for a moment before he turned to leave. He didn’t know what to feel anymore. The Dany he once thought he loved was long gone.

Brienne caught Jon by the wrist before he made it ten paces. Her grip was painful. Jon looked in astonishment at her hand and then back to her face. “You need to leave this place,” she said, voice both quiet and strong. “Go north and stay there.”

He was shaking his head before she finished talking. “I gave Dany my word,” Jon said. “I can’t go back on it. Not even –”

Brienne tightened her grip on him to the point of cutting of his blood flow. “ _Sansa is pregnant_!” she hissed through her teeth. She tried to calm herself. “You must go back.”

Jon’s face had lost all expression and his body was rigid and his head pounded with each beat of his heart and his legs were shaking so hard he could barely stand and Brienne was squeezing his arm too tightly and Sansa . . .

_“What if I got her pregnant? Another bastard named Snow.”_

His knees gave out, and he fell back into a seated position a great rock. His eyes glazed over. His gaze was directed at Daenerys as she climbed the steps to the castle, but he didn’t really see her. He didn’t really see anything.

Sansa is pregnant.

“She’ll find out,” Brienne continued. “She’ll know that the baby is yours. Daenerys doesn’t tolerate disloyalty. Not from her advisors, not from her followers, and certainly not from her lover.”

“Lover,” Jon repeated, his voice as monotone and detached as Bran’s. He still couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even picture Sansa in his mind. Picture her swelling stomach. Picture a screaming baby in her arms. His baby. Theirs.

Sansa is pregnant.

He came to Dragonstone. No matter what Dany had done, no matter what she planned to do. He _had_ to. To preserve his honor and because it was his duty –

_“What is honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms?”_

Sansa is pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was up to snuff!   
> I'm away this weekend and I probably won't post again until Tuesday-ish.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter is okay, I've been pretty swamped recently. God willing, I'll have the next chapter up around Sunday.

Sansa had mixed feelings when her courses came.

She was glad that she wasn’t carrying Ramsay’s child, of course, but if she were, he couldn’t hurt her. At least until the child was born.

“When you do start having children, they better not be girls,” Ramsay said. He paced back and forth in front of the bed. Sansa was curled up by the headboard.

The waiting was the worst part. Just hit her. Just cut her. Just take her. Be done with it. But he always wanted to talk first.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why?” Ramsay prompted.

Her voice was rough from crying. “Why?”

“Well, they could be girls, I suppose. I just hope for your sake they’re not.” He sat on the bed beside his wife and petted her hair. “You see, I don’t like children at all, really, but sons are necessary. Daughters, though.” He smiled. “Sweet little things. They’ll all look like you, I’m sure.”

Sansa swallowed. He wanted her to speak, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I will be so pleased when they're born and so very proud of you, dear wife. I’ll take you both to the kennels. You’ll have a chair, of course – you’ll need your rest after giving birth. The most comfortable chair in the whole keep. And you will sit in the chair and watch while my hounds eat your daughters alive.”

Sansa couldn’t even react.

Ramsay smiled again. “That sounds like fun, actually. Perhaps I do want daughters.” He kissed her forehead and left the room.

*

Sansa woke herself up with a sharp cry.

Ghost was there, licking and nudging her as she sat up. She tore the covers away and pulled up her nightgown with such intensity that the fabric tore. It had to be there. It had to be safe.

She wept with relief when she saw the mound between her hips. Her baby was tucked away in her womb. Nothing could touch it there. Nothing and no one.

She wound her arms around her stomach as she sobbed.  

Ghost whimpered and rubbed against her shoulder in a bid to comfort his lady. When that didn’t work, he nosed at her belly to show her that the baby was all right, for that was certainly the source of her distress. She seemed to understand, for her crying slowed.

"Thank you, Ghost. It's all right now."

The wolf rubbed against her shoulder again before laying down perpendicular to her. He rested his head on her legs. He would've rested it on her stomach, if he could, but he knew he was large and the baby was small, and he would have to be very careful from now on. He was going to have a new person to look after soon, not just Jon and Sansa, and he intended to rise to the challenge.

Sansa smiled to herself and stroked the wolf's soft ears. "Good boy. You'll be the baby's very best friend, won't you? I've half a mind to send you after Jon, but I don't think you'd leave even if I asked you to." That thought relieved her beyond words. At least one white wolf would be with her when her time came.

Maester Wolkan said Sansa would be able to feel the child moving soon. Then the baby would be able to reassure his mother himself.

*

Sansa dressed quickly and headed off. She didn’t bother with breakfast; she’d only throw it up. That bit was meant to have gone away by now – she was meant to be eating everything in sight at this stage – but it lingered. Wolkan said that she had nothing to worry about; plenty of women kept up their symptoms of morning sickness.

The other nobles let Sansa have time to herself every morning until after the midday meal. She was expecting, after all, and for whatever reason, people weren’t as worried about Daenerys attacking.

Sansa had already told them that if and when the invasion came, the people would go to the abandoned castles along the wall. Dany didn’t know anything about them – where they were, what defenses they had, the amounts of weapons in the armory.

The cold would weaken the Unsullied over a few weeks, and then they’d be easy prey for the Northerners.

There were still many details to work out, but the plan was sound.

Sansa spent her mornings in Rickon’s room, which she had chosen to be the nursery. It was wide but not deep, with the hearth taking up one whole wall. Rickon’s little bed was pushed against a wall to make space on the ground for him to play.

Some of his toys were still out. The little wooden sword Ser Rodrick gave him on his sixth birthday. The jousting knight carved of wood. Sansa remembered when the lance broke off. Rickon cried for nearly an hour before Robb hoisted him onto his shoulders and pretended to be a horse so Rickon could play-joust with Father.

Sansa put her face in her hands and wept. Father and Rickon and Robb. People she loved so much. Killed for what? For sport. That wouldn’t happen to Sansa’s child. It couldn’t.

*

Jon spent two days on the beach. He couldn’t go near Daenerys. She would know that something was off. And she’d know it had something to do with Sansa.

It wasn’t hard to avoid her. She was shut up in the map room with Grey Worm and her favorite warriors. Tyrion wasn’t even invited to help formulate a battle plan.

Brienne gave Jon a wide berth but kept him in sight at all times. She was more concerned about his mental well-being rather than physical. She worried he might jump in the ocean and try to swim home.

Davos was the first to lose his patience.

He first attempted consolation. “I nearly ran away when my wife first told me she was pregnant. Planned to sail all the way to Qarth. My wife got tired of me being a coward pretty quickly. Smacked me across the face and told me to snap out of it.” He smiled at the memory. “Asked me if I lost my bollocks. Once I calmed down, I was so excited. I’d never been so excited in my life.”

“I’m not trying to run away from my –”

His what? _Family_ would be the easiest word to say. He still choked on _child_.

Davos took a moment to think. “You knew the risks that came with bringing Sansa to your bed,” he finally said. “You didn’t take precautions.”

Precautions? Perhaps Davos was referring to the way Ygritte forced Jon out of her body before he spilled inside her. He’d finish himself off with his hand.

It had never occurred to him that he should do that with Sansa. Never crossed his mind at all.

Jon could’ve strangled Davos in that moment. He was shit at comforting people. Jon was so upset that he started climbing the stairs back to the keep.

Davos was thoroughly pleased with himself and shot a wink at Brienne. Jon was finally off the beach.

*

Tyrion tried to be his usual self, but he was clearly shaken by what Daenerys had done. Dany’s new disregard for him worried him even more. If she found out that he’d let Jaime past their defenses, he’d be Drogon’s next meal.

He paced the castle’s halls aimlessly. He couldn’t go outside – he might catch a glimpse of Drogon flying and vomit. He’d already vomited twice tonight, and he didn’t want there to be a third.

Besides, he threw up from drinking, not disgust. The former sort was far more pleasant than the latter.

He couldn’t get the image of what happened out of his mind. He drank to forget, as he often did, but that only made the image crisper and clearer.

And the things Varys told him. . .

Jaime would succeed, he told himself. He’d find Cersei and spirit her away. Once they were somewhere safe, he would charter a ship to take them to Essos – not to one of Daenerys’s cities, though.

They’d have nothing, no money, no possessions. They’d have to start over.

That thought comforted Tyrion. His sister could be someone new, someone she liked and wanted to be. Jaime could raise the child as his own; he and Cersei would live together as husband and wife rather than brother and sister. And they would be happy.

Yes. They deserved joy. Even Cersei, for all her faults, had endured terrible things over which she had no control.

Tyrion took another gulp of wine.

He was pleasantly surprised when he opened the door to his chamber and saw Jon seated on the bed. “Bastard!” he greeted, holding out the pitcher in his hand. “Wine?” Jon glared at him in response. Tyrion wiggled the pitcher at him.

“No, I don’t want wine,” Jon finally said. He hoped his sharp tone would make Tyrion leave. It didn’t.

Tyrion flopped down on the bed beside the former king. “Fire can’t kill the dragon,” he slurred. “I don’t know if you’re a dragon. Shall we set you on fire and find out?”

Jon took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’d like you to leave, Tyrion.”

“Sansa has hair fire. Fire hair. I don’t know the words for it.”

“I don’t want to talk about Sansa.”

Tyrion quietly belched. “Why? Because you’re sleeping with her?”

*

“Can Castle Black hold us all?” Brodick asked.

“Not all of us, no,” Sam said.

“The next castle is nearly fifteen miles away,” Sansa said, frowning at the maps on the library table before her. “I don’t want us to separate, especially if we’re that far apart.”

“We could build temporary shelters in the surrounding area,” Manderley suggested.

“They’d be too easy to spot,” the queen said.

“What about here?” Alyss Karstark tapped the image of the wolfswood. “The trees will be dense enough to hide the shelters from above. The dragon queen won’t be able to see them.”

“How far are the woods from the castle?” Sansa asked.

Sam shrugged with one shoulder. “Five miles, maybe. Six at most.”

“Perfect,” Sansa said. She turned to one of her guards. “See that we have sufficient material to build a few dozen huts.”

“Right away, your grace.”

Sansa dismissed everyone so that she could attend to personal matters. Brodick escorted her to the nursery and then headed toward the aviary. He had several very important messages to send to his patron in the south.

*

Jon felt as though he had the wind knocked out of him. He couldn’t breathe in or out, but he somehow leapt off the bed to block the door with his body.

Tyrion belched again. “You needn’t worry your sweet curly head.” He pretended to whisper, “I’m very good at keeping secrets!”

“How . . .”

“People speak _much_ louder than they think they do,” Tyrion said. “That’s how I know she’s not your sister, too. Though I don’t think it would matter in the long run. People seem to fuck their sisters all the time. Look at Cersei and Jaime.”

“I think you should sleep,” Jon said. “In your own chambers.”

“These are my chambers,” Tyrion replied. He lowered his eyelids and bit his lip flirtatiously. “I thought you’d come in to seduce me.”

Jon didn’t say anything, just turned and walked out of the room, though Tyrion called for him to come back and cuddle. “I’ll let you be the little spoon!”

He was properly fucked. How could he lie convincingly if he was too distracted to find his own room? Not that he could lie convincingly anyway. Everyone knew who his parents were, everyone knew about his relationship with Sansa. It was only a matter of time – a rather small amount of it – before they’d know about Sansa’s condition.

Damn it all! Why hadn’t Sansa told him? How far along was she? Did the child cause her pain? did she even want to be a mother?

She should’ve told him before he left. He was going to remind her of that as soon as he got home. She was the one so against keeping secrets. Yes, he’d give her a piece of his mind, but only after he held her and kissed her and asked her every question in the world about her health and spirit and the tiny life inside her.

Jon barely made it out of Tyrion’s room when he crashed into Brienne. “Seven hells! What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to reason with you,” said Brienne. She followed on his heels as he marched to his room. “You need to go home. This might be your only chance.”

Jon whirled around. “And how do you suggest I get there? Borrow one of Daenerys’s ships? Steal one of her horses? Steal her dragon? Walk? And even if I could, what do you think would happen when Daenerys finds out I’ve left?”

“It is your _child_ ,” Brienne said strongly; Jon flinched at the word. “Sansa will be made queen if she hasn’t already. Do you expect Daenerys to congratulate her?”

“What do you want me to do!” he bit out.

“Go home to your family. Protect them.”

Jon scoffed and continued down the hall.

“You have a mind for war,” Brienne continued. “You’ve been trained in it your whole life. Sansa has not. Make a battle plan against Daenerys; you know her strengths and weaknesses better than anyone.”

Jon started shaking his head before she finished talking. “I can’t kill Dany. I made an oath –”

“Damn your oath and damn your honor,” Brienne snapped.

Jon clenched his jaw and kept waking. Brienne didn’t follow.

Her nostrils flared in anger. “If you leave them alone, then you’re no better than Rhaegar Targaryen.”

*

“Two horses died this morning,” the stablemaster said. “One collapsed from exhaustion and the other broke its leg.”

Sansa frowned. They had too few animals as it was. “We’ll use the skin for blankets or clothes. We’ll eat one’s meat and dry out the other one’s to preserve it. Be sure to open every bone for marrow and distribute it among the elderly and the children; they need the fat more than the rest of us. Use the tails, manes, and hooves – I don’t care what for, so long as they are put to use. Be careful not to waste anything,”

“Of course, your grace.”

“And give the other horses time to rest. They are only to be taken out if absolutely necessary. Our men can hunt on foot.”

“Yes, your grace.” The stablemaster bowed and left Sansa’s solar.

She sat back down at her desk and took a deep breath. She couldn’t keep putting out fires as they came up. She needed a real plan.

“You ought to take some of the marrow,” Bran said from his spot by the hearth. “For the baby.”

Sansa shook her head. “I can do without it.”

Bran was right, of course, but Sansa didn’t want to take food away from her people even if it was for the baby’s sake. She would not put herself above them.

“Do you know anything? About the baby, I mean,” she asked her brother, hoping to change the subject.

“Like what?”

“If it’s a boy or a girl.”

“No,” Bran said.

Sansa deflated.

Gilly said she knew both times she was pregnant that she was carrying a boy. She said it was instinctive. Sansa didn’t have any such instincts. She wondered if that made her a bad mother.

*

Jon was shaking with rage when he turned to face Brienne.

She straightened up, determined to hold her own against her mistress’s lover. “That’s exactly what he did, isn’t it? He abandoned his family to go to war. He left his wife and children to the slaughter.”

“I am _not_ Rhaegar Targaryen,” Jon bit out.

“Lord Snow?” a servant girl peered around the corner to see the pair arguing.

Jon and Brienne both looked terrified – how much had she overheard? How much would she share?

“The queen requests your presence in the map room,” said the girl. “Lord Tyrion’s, too, but he doesn’t seem well enough for it.”

Jon put on an unconvincing smile. “Lead the way.”

Davos had relegated himself to a corner by the open wall so he could look down at the sea. Gods, what he would give to go back to being a smuggler. Things were much simpler, then – safer, too.

Daenerys didn’t greet Jon and Brienne as they came in. She didn’t even look up from the map. The Unsullied and Dothraki commanders “We’re leaving for King’s Landing,” she said.

Jon took a moment to absorb that abrupt declaration before speaking. “When?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Night?” asked Brienne.

“The Lannisters cannot see us coming,” said Grey Worm.

“We won’t be able to see anything either,” Jon said.

“A big bloody dragon is hard to miss, even in the darkness,” Davos said. Dany and Jon glared him into silence.

“Drogon and I will arrive separately,” Dany announced. “Grey Worm is in command until then. Is that understood?” She directly addressed Jon. He’d likely do something stupid, try to be a hero, end the war with a single swing of his sword. The thought made her want to hit him.

“Yes, your grace,” Jon said. “I will do whatever you command.”

*

Sansa was half-asleep when there was a loud, fast knock on her door. “Your grace?”

Sansa sighed and opened her eyes. It was just past down. She’d spent the whole night tossing and turning in a desperate attempt to find a comfortable position. It proved to be a futile exercise. “What is it?”

Her maid’s timid voice came through the door. “Lord Bran needs to speak to you and the nobles at once.”

Sansa managed to sit up – a difficult feat considering her size. “Is something wrong?”

“He’s had a . . . vision, or sight, or –”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know, your grace. Something to do with the Targaryen.”

Sansa tossed off her covers and called for the servant to come help her dress.

She walked quickly down to the ground floor and on to the Godswood. Her enormous belly made movement difficult, though.

The nobles made way for her when she reached the heart tree; one of the masters-at-arms had the foresight to bring a stool for his queen to sit on. it made Sansa feel helpless and weak to be cared for like that, but her swollen feet left her no option but to sit.

Bran waited until his sister was settled to begin talking. “They’re moving on King’s Landing.”

“When?”

“They leave tomorrow.” Bran blinked a few times before speaking again. “She won’t show mercy. Not to them, not to us.”

“How do you know?” asked Brodick. “I thought you couldn’t see into the future.”

“She executed Varys for treason. And then she fed him to her dragon.”

There was a moment of complete silence. Brodick swallowed hard.

Sansa rose to her feet. “Start preparing yourselves. We leave for the Wall at dawn.”

“Sansa. There’s something else you should know,” Bran said once the others had left.

“Yes?”

“Jon knows about your baby.”

She put her hand over her stomach. She wanted to ask how he felt about it, if he missed her, if he was afraid, but it would only distract her from her duties.  She could hardly picture his face without tearing up these days.

"Does anyone else?"

"Pod and Davos. They won't tell anyone, though. They're loyal to you and to Jon."

Sansa was about to nod in response to her brother, but just then, a strange fluttering sensation came from her stomach. It was nearly imperceptible, like a butterfly’s wings beating against thin glass, but it was enough.

Sansa’s baby was moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy so many people enjoy reading this! I don't know how much longer this story will be, but it will stile be a while before I figure out the ending and stuff. I'm going to be so sad when it's over! I've got a couple more GOT stories brewing, but I doubt they'll be this long.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had the rest of the story all planned out but then I decided to change literally everything, so I probably won’t post as frequently. I was getting close to wrapping things up, but I think this’ll be more exciting/fulfilling - and it'll last longer. Hopefully you guys will like the new direction!

It was Jon’s idea to separate the armies. The Unsullied would go by land; the Northerners would travel by sea.

Dany didn’t want anyone to go by sea, since the Iron Fleet was certainly lying in wait, but Davos stepped forward and assured the queen that he’d be able to get the men to King’s Landing unseen. “It’ll take a while – the passages can only hold so many people at a time – but I can get them in.”

Daenerys frowned. “Now is the time to prove your skills as a smuggler. You will be rewarded for your success.” She ended her thought there, leaving Davos and the others to fill in the blanks for themselves.

 The Unsullied started to march while the Northerners readied the ships. Dany ran off with Drogon; no one knew where.

Gendry was preparing to leave for Storm’s End, his new holding, when Davos found him in the stables.

“Look at you, all fine and dandy,” Davos said.

Gendry looked himself over and smiled nervously. “Thought I ought to look the part. Do you think it’ll fool them?”

Davos shrugged. “Maybe. If they’re all as dumb as you are.”

Gendry smiled shyly, ears red, and embraced his friend. “Will you come and see me sometime?”

Davos sighed. “I have to ask you for a favor, Gendry. And it’s rather a large one.”

Gendry took a half-step back. “What is it?”

*

Tyrion was pissing out of his window when Jon came in. He was sober, more or less, but he’d acquired a taste for urinating from great heights.

“Lord Tyrion,” Jon said after clearing his throat.

“I think we’re past the _lord_ bit, don’t you?”

“Tyrion,” Jon amended. “I need to speak with you.”

“You don’t say.” He sighed and tucked himself back into his pants before turning around. “A raven came from Winterfell only a short while ago.” He crossed the room and picked up a small scroll from his bed. Jon cautiously unfurled it and began to read. “They’ve named her queen. And her children after her.”

“They’re going to the Wall,” Jon said to himself. “Who sent this?”

“One of Varys’s birds.” Tyrion poured himself a large goblet of wine.

“Who?”

“He’s called Brodick, I think.”

Jon’s fist closed around the paper, but it didn’t stop his hand from shaking with rage. “Has the queen read this?”

“I don’t know. But she’ll figure it out soon enough.” Tyrion looked up. “You’re going north, aren’t you? Good. It’s where you belong.”

“Thank you, Tyrion.” Jon turned to leave.

“Jon!” Tyrion called; Jon turned. “I wish you good fortune in the wars to come. You’ll need it.”

*

Sansa sat in the front of a cart. Bran was loaded in the back, along with a handful of wooden planks and bags of grain from the stores. The driver was a young woman who’d had half the skin on her legs burnt off during the battle. Walking was still difficult for her, so she was given permission to ride.

Sansa originally intended to walk – Maester Wolkin said walking helped the pregnancy but failed to explain how – but her screaming ankles changed her mind.

Ghost wove in and out of the caravan to make sure everyone stayed close together and no one strayed from the King’s Road. A few times, though, he ran into the woods for a few minutes. He’d burst through the tree line with fat rabbits in his mouth. He tossed them all into Sansa’s cart so she knew they were for her.

He was concerned when she didn’t eat them right away, so he ran back into the woods and came back with half a berry bush stuck between his teeth.

Sansa smiled and thanked him for being so considerate. He practically sighed with satisfaction when she started shoveling fistfuls of the dark fruit into her mouth.

“Ghost worries about you,” Bran said. “He’s trying to make up for Jon’s absence.”

Sansa didn’t need to be a warg to figure that out. “He’s very loyal,” she said.

“Summer was, too,” Bran said quietly. “Right to the end.”

Sansa looked over her shoulder at him. “You never told me how you lost him.”

“White Walkers.”

Sansa frowned. “It must’ve been very difficult.”

Bran vaguely remembered what _difficulty_ felt like. Grief. Grief for Rickon, for Jojen, for Hodor, for Ned, for Rob, for Catelyn, Ser Rodrick. Everyone he used to know.

But it was all very distant now, like his memories of the Targaryen conquest and the death of Cersei’s son by Robert. Even yesterday seemed far-off.

“Yes,” he said after a while. “It must’ve.”

*

Arya was waylaid several times on her way to King’s Landing. The longest stop was at Riverrun.

Edmure was welcoming if somewhat annoying. His wife, Rosalyn Frey, tried to stand behind him at all times.

She knew fine well who Arya was and what she’d done to the Frey family. But she also knew that she spared the women. Wives, sisters, daughters – all were safe. Rosalyn and Edmure had a hell of a time trying to arrange marriages for the younger ones and see to the comforts of the older ones.

Arya gave her aunt a wide berth. She didn’t want the woman to start screaming or crying, and she certainly didn’t want to speak to her.

Arya didn’t regret killing the Freys. She did what needed to be done. Her mother, brother, and unborn niece or nephew had to be avenged. And now they were. But she did feel bad about leaving the women defenseless. The few servants who survived Arya’s attack fled the Twins the first chance they got, leaving the Frey girls to their own devices.

Rosalyn gasped when her son ran into his cousin’s arms. She squeezed Edmure’s arm to the point of interrupted the blood flow. “Stop that,” he said, prying her fingers away. He didn’t understand the reason for his wife’s odd behavior. “Can’t you settle down?”

“He’s a beautiful boy,” Arya said, drawing the couple’s attention. “He’s a proper Tully.”

Rosalyn visibly relaxed. Tully. Not Frey.

Edmure and Arya ate supper alone. “I heard Bran and Sansa are alive and well.”

“They are,” Arya said, smiling.

“I heard Ned’s bastard was named king.”

Arya frowned. “He was, but Sansa is queen now.”

He nodded. “That’s a fine thing. Has she remarried?”

Arya narrow her eyes. “No, she hasn’t.”

Edmure nodded, deep in thought. “She probably should.”

She could’ve throttled him. Where was he when Sansa retook Winterfell? Or when the dead marched south? The Vale had been loyal; why not the Riverlands?

Arya excused herself to go to sleep. She was staying in her mother’s old room. Some of her old dresses still lay in the closet. They were too big for Arya to wear – not that she wore dresses anymore – and too small for Sansa. Still, she had the urge to bring some token back to Winterfell for her family.

She found a handful of hair pins and ribbons in the table beside the bed. She set one in her bun and wrapped the rest in handkerchiefs.

She didn’t carry personal belongings with her when she traveled, since they got lost or broken, but she couldn’t resist bringing these mementos along.

Sansa would especially need them when her time came. She’d want her mother there to hold her hand and smooth her hair and tell her everything would be all right. That’s what mothers were for.

Arya was a poor substitute, but she was determined to help her sister through the ordeal. Fathers weren’t present during birthings, and Jon wouldn’t be helpful anyway. He’d probably pace around in front of the door to Sansa’s chamber and grind his teeth until they cracked.

Regardless, he should be there. Arya would finish her business in the capital and then drag her brother back north. She’d drag him by the ear if she had to.

Hopefully Daenerys would be too drunk with power to remember the North, at least for a little while.

*

Davos promised Shireen that he would make her a doe to go with the stag he whittled for her. He kept his promise even after she died. Before he boarded the ships heading north, he went into Shireen’s room and placed them on her pillow.

He wept until the signal came to gather on the beach. He wiped his eyes and splashed cold water on his face in the hopes he wouldn’t look like he’d been weeping.

He ran back to his old room and grabbed a chunk of wood from his cabinet – he always had some handy in case he felt creative – and rushed down to the beach.

He sat in the crow’s nest to get some peace and quiet while he worked. He needed absolute silence to concentrate on what he was carving.

It was to be a wolf for the little prince or princess. Jon’s child.

That was still an odd thought to him. Jon didn’t strike him as the sort of man who would ever have children. At least not on purpose.

He’d seen too much, endured too much. He wouldn’t willingly put a child through that. But the child was coming whether he wanted it or not.

Jon was a fool, but he was a good man, too. He’d do right by his family. Sansa would keep him on the right path.

*

Jon hadn’t stopped vomiting since the sun came up. It was his seasickness acting up, but that wasn’t all it was. Nerves. Terror, more accurately.

What in seven hells was he doing? Maybe Sansa wanted him to leave, maybe that’s why she didn’t tell him about the baby, because she knew he’d only make things worse. She might not even want him there with her.

He knew she loved him – he never doubted it for a moment from the first time their lips met – but she didn’t necessarily like him. In fact, she usually didn’t.

How would she look? Would she let him touch her belly? He didn’t know, and he didn’t much care. He just wanted her. He just wanted Sansa.

*

Sansa had a good dream for the first time since Jon left.

Jon sat with a little red-haired girl on his lap. She tugged at the coils in his hair; he laughed and kissed her and tickled her and told her he loved her very much, and the little girl fell asleep in his arms.

A daughter would do Jon good. He would spoil her beyond reason, and the unconditional love the little girl poured out on him would certainly make him smile. Sansa knew it was unlikely, but perhaps he’d love the girl so much he’d stop brooding.

And he would keep her safe for as long as he lived. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes as Ned.

Family, duty, honor. Family came before all else.

*

Arya decided to take one more keepsake with her on her journey.

There was a cradle in the corner of Catelyn’s old room, no doubt the one Robb slept in before Ned came to claim his family and bring them north.

There was a stuffed toy inside, worn threadbare and grey with age. Arya guessed it was a bear once, or maybe a wolf, but it was well-loved. And it was Robb’s.

She clutched the doll to her chest and shut her eyes. She would cry, but she ran out of tears years ago.

Aya left just when the sky began to lighten. She did not say goodbye.

*

There were still a handful of wildlings at Castle Black. Most of them had gone back beyond the Wall; others had gone to explore the other castles along the Wall.

Tormund started laughing when he saw Sansa. “You’re as big as a horse.”

“Sansa’s Queen in the North now,” Sam said.

“Good for you,” Tormund said. He winked at her. “Gingers should always be in charge.”  He watched the Northerners pour into the courtyard. “Do you live here now?”

“Just until we’ve dealt with the Dragon Queen,” Sansa said. She instructed Brodick to help the people settle in and then meet her in the great hall.

Tormund walked up the steps with Sansa, ready to catch her at a moment’s notice. His woman, Karsi, often lost her footing when she was pregnant, but she wouldn’t let him help her walk. Thankfully, Sansa was not so proud.

Tormund missed Karsi sometimes. Though they hadn’t been together in years, she’d given him beautiful children, which was a debt he could never repay. She’d died during the battle at Hardhome.

*

Sansa gathered her advisors in the great hall to discuss defense strategies. One of her warriors brought in a large chair with a back and arms for her to sit on; she wouldn’t be able to sit on the rough benches even if she wanted to. She’d lost all maneuverability.

“I won’t ask the wildlings to fight with us,” Sansa said. “They helped us retake Winterfell. They helped us defeat the dead.”

“Aye, and they can fight with us again,” Lord Glover said.

“They’re Free Folk, not Northerners. They don’t owe us anything.”

“I’ll fight with you,” Tormund said, scratching his enormous beard. “I don’t know about the others.”

“Thank you, Tormund.” Sansa cracked the slightest smile. “We gingers must stick together.”

“We could put people in the tunnels during the attack,” Sam suggested, completely oblivious to the conversation going on around him.

“What do you mean?”

“Our rangers used them to go beyond the Wall. You can fit a hundred people in each one. Daenerys won’t be able to see us in there.”

“We could stage an ambush,” Sansa said excitedly. She started writing furiously on a blank piece of paper. “We can keep the women and children inside the tunnels that are father from the castle. How many do you think we could fit in each one?”

“A hundred at least,” Tormund said. “Our giants had plenty of room when they walked through.”

“The woods have plenty of cover, too,” Sam said.

“The woods can catch fire far more easily that a great block of ice,” said Brodick.

“The dragon lady can’t see into the woods from up high,” Tormund said.

Ghost howled louder than anyone had ever heard him.

“What on earth is that?” Karstark said to herself.

“It’s Ghost,” Sam said. He leaned out the window to see what was happening. “Someone’s coming.”

Sansa pulled herself to her feet and walked outside with Sam and Tormund at her sides. Brodick kept his hand on his sword, ready to defend his queen from the outsiders.

She came out just as the gates opened. Jon led his men inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this was kind of a filler chapter but I promise you good stuff is coming!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this chapter sucks but I wanted to get it up cause we're getting to the good stuff very soon.

The Unsullied remained in perfect battle formation for hours. The Golden Company, which guarded the gates of King’s Landing, were unsure of what to do.

They’d give up their defensive position if they attacked first, but it didn’t seem like the opposing army had any intention of starting the battle. Perhaps the dragon queen had changed her mind; perhaps she wanted to lay siege to the capital rather than openly fight for it.

The Unsullied had no idea why this was all taking so long, but they knew better than to ask questions.

The strategy, as strange as it was, paid off.

When Drogon’s battle cry finally came, all the soldiers were distracted. The dragon was already spewing fire over the city. The men of the Golden Company hesitated, and the Unsullied attacked them full-force.

It was a massacre.

The soldiers clever enough to flee the battlefield were speared in the backs. Drogon would likely set the bodies aflame just to make sure they were properly dead.

The Unsullied breached the gate in less than an hour. Less than half of them had poured in when the bells rang surrender. The soldiers hesitated for a moment, waiting to see what their queen would do.

She ordered Drogon to set the tower aflame.

*

Jon made up his moment he stepped onto the ship. He never wanted to father a bastard. He refused. He’d marry Sansa as soon as he saw her. And there she was, standing on one of the porches.

He first fell to his knees and pledged his sword and life to the Queen in the North and her issue thereafter.

Jon’s soldiers had not been present when Sansa was named queen, so they, too, pledged themselves to her and took up the cry “The Queen in the North!”

The soldiers had also missed Sansa’s revelation about Jon’s true parentage. They were also terribly confused when they saw Sansa. She was regal and dignified as ever, but her stomach looked near to bursting.

Jon climbed the stairs to Sansa in a flash. Sansa thought he meant to kiss her, but he only caught her hand and walked into the lord commander’s chambers where he knew she would be staying.

He’d ask her to marry him then and there, the moment the door was closed –

But then the door was closed, and he saw the look on Sansa’s face. She didn’t look happy to see him at all. She didn't whisper his name or run into his arms. She just stood there.

“I wanted to keep it a secret for longer, but it’s growing too fast,” she quickly explaied. “I didn’t want them to think it was someone else’s child.” She meant Littlefinger, of course, but didn’t say his name. “I had to tell them about us, and so I had to tell them about your parents.”

Jon looked at her with an unreadable emotion on his face.

“They aren’t angry with you, Jon,” she said. “They aren’t angry with either of us. They all swore to follow our child.” She thought that might lift Jon’s spirits and get him to talk. It didn’t.

“When were you planning to tell me?” His voice was low and rough.

Sansa averted her eyes for a moment. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“And when’s that, Sansa? When it’s time to give my daughter away to her husband?” He was so angry that he couldn’t even raise his voice.  He couldn’t look at her stomach, either, because he knew that would set him off. Or make him cry. Either way, he didn’t want to take the chance.

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest as best as she could; her breasts and stomach were too large for her to do much of anything, but she tried all the same. “There was no point in it,” she said.

Jon’s eyes widened with disbelief. “No point?”

“There was nothing you could’ve done.” She was tired. She just wanted him to hold her and kiss her but she knew that wasn’t possible, at least not now. She was trying to protect Jon. Why couldn’t he see that? “I know how upset you get when you feel helpless. Jon, there’s nothing you can do.”

“I can protect you!” he shouted.

 _No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone_.

“How?!” Sansa spat back. She managed not to lose her balance as she took an angry step toward him. “Do you think if you politely ask Daenerys to leave us alone, she’ll actually do it? Or perhaps you could hide me in a tower in Dorne and hope everybody else dies before we have to deal with it all?”

Jon recoiled as though he’d been struck. Sansa’s heart dropped. She was about to run to him when his eyes hardened. His voice dropped to a growl. “I am not Rhaegar _fucking_ Targaryen, and you will _never_ compare me to him again.”

Sansa hadn’t seen Jon this angry since they retook Winterfell, since he broke Ramsay’s nose and jaw and cheekbone and knocked out his teeth. Since he was trying to beat a man to death.

Sansa’s pupils dilated and her breathing got quicker. Her hand flew to her stomach to defend her baby.

Jon’s anger fell away the second he saw the look on Sansa’s face. All the blood had fled her face, leaving her deathly pale. Her muscles were locked up and her hand – gods help him, she held her hand protectively over her stomach. She was instinctively protecting her baby from Jon's wrath.

She was afraid he’d hurt his own child. Hurt her.

Jon’s face went as white as Sansa’s when that realization struck him.

“Sansa,” he whispered. He thanked the gods she didn’t recoil when he reached for her elbow and guided her to sit on the bed before she collapsed, for she’d certainly faint any moment. He knelt before her and took her hands in his. They were cold.

It took a moment for Sansa to get her anger back. She could’ve wept when Jon’s warm hands surrounded hers, but her anger came back before she had the chance.

She snatched her hands away and snarled, “You will never speak to me like that again. I am the Queen in the North and I will run you out of my kingdom if you ever do.” She also thought to mention that she was the mother of his child, but she didn’t want to invite further conversation.

Jon leaned back on his heels. “Sansa –”

“Get out.”

*

Arya thought she missed the battle at first.

Cersei’s mercenaries were all dead or dying, and the gates leading into the city were open wide. Arya dismounted and made her way through the bodies, looking for stragglers.

She wouldn’t have cared if she hadn’t thought of the Lannister soldiers who shared their meal with her.

They were good men who served bad people. They weren’t her enemies, not really, and they didn’t deserve to suffer. These men might not be good, but she had no ill will towards them so long as they weren’t bothering her.

She thought of one soldier in particular. He proudly told her that he’d just become a father; the smile on his face was nearly blinding.

She hoped his death was quick, for he’d certainly fallen on the battlefield: He was a good man, and good men don’t get to go home.

The bells started ringing mere moments after Arya stepped through the city gates. There hadn’t been much of a battle, judging by the looks of things: there was smoke in the distance and a fair bit of dust and rubble on the ground, but less than a dozen dead citizens. Not much of a battle at all.

Arya still wanted to be there when they killed Cersei if she wasn’t dead already, so Arya remounted her horse and started toward the Red Keep.

There was a horrible shrieking sound that Arya recognized as a dragon’s battle cry. Drogon flew in complex spirals over the city, casting great shadows over great swaths of land.

Daenerys was allowed to show off. Arya would, too, if she’d just taken the capital in less than a day.

Drogon went into a nose drive over the center of the city. Just when it seemed he’d crash, he pulled up and screeched again. He opened his mouth and rained fire down on the city.

*

The baby was all riled up after its mother’s outburst. It moved every few hours, sometimes more, but now it kicked furiously without a moment of rest.

“Hush,” Sansa said. The baby didn’t obey. She sighed heavily and leaned back on the pillows at the top of the bed and concentrated on her baby, on the strange sensation that accompanied each kick, until she was able to regain control of her breathing.

Jon should’ve finished his duty to Daenerys before coming home. She’d be even angrier now, and she’d certainly know that something was off if she didn’t already.  She’d attack the North with or without provocation, and this would certainly provoke her beyond reason.

*

Jon came charging out of Sansa’s room like a bull. He didn’t make eye contact with any of his friends as he stormed through the bailey. He was too angry to even notice Brodick standing a few feet off. He’d kill that traitorous fucker later.

Jon slipped out of a side entrance to the castle and started marching toward the godswood. He wanted to be alone, though he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Still, he had the best chance of it in the godswood.

Bran sat facing the heart tree, his back facing Jon. “You’re back sooner than I thought you’d be,” he said without turning.

Jon was too upset to give his brother a proper greeting. “Has she gone mad? Why didn’t she –”

“I don’t know,” Bran said. “Shouting at me won’t accomplish anything.”

Jon took a deep breath to regain control. “Is she sorry at all?”

“I don’t know,” he said again. “She doesn’t like me looking.”

“She doesn’t like anything.” Jon calmed enough to have a proper conversation. “How have you been?” It was a weak starting point, but at least it was something.

“I’ve been the same.”

Jon didn’t know what answer he was expecting. Sometimes he thought it wasn’t worth trying at all, but then he berated himself. Bran was his brother no matter how much he’d changed.

Bran maneuvered his wheelchair so that he faced Jon. He folded his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry I’m no fun anymore.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been with you. I had no business with her,” Jon replied. “I should’ve been here with you.”

“You’re here now.” He smiled the slightest bit. “Turn around.”

Jon whirled around just as Ghost crashed into his chest, throwing him to the ground and forcing the air out of his lungs. He started licking every bit of exposed skin he could find, primarily Jon’s ears.

When he finally got his breath back, Jon started laughing. He’d never seen his wolf so excited or so openly affectionate, but he welcomed it. At least someone was happy to see him.

He got back to his feet and looked around. “Where’s Arya? I thought she would’ve come to shout at me by now.”

“She not here,” said Bran. “She’s in King’s Landing.”

*

Arya’s horse was so terrified by the pillar of fire that it reared back so far that it fell, pinning Arya’s legs beneath it. There was a throbbing pain near her temple made contact with the stone path. Her hair was already wet with blood.

People rushed past her like water around rocks as they ran from the growing flames. The sun was too bright for anybody to track Drogon’s path across the sky; the crowd was directionless.

The horse sounded like it was screaming. Its hind leg was snapped in half, the bone protruding from the skin. Arya dragged herself away just in time: the crowd trampled the beast to death in no time at all.

 Arya staggered up the hill toward the keep, oblivious to the chaos around her. She had to be there at the end. She had to see her father and sister revenged. She had to see Cersei Lannister die.

And more importantly, she had to get to Jon.

She drew her knife from its sheath; Needle would be no use considering such close quarters. There was a fair amount of gold-cloaks and Unsullied peppered around, but no Northerners, at least none that Arya could recognize.

The Unsullied recognized her, though, and helped her clear a path uphill. She grabbed one at random. “Do you speak the common tongue?”

The soldier shook his head no. One of his ears and part of his cheek were missing, but he hardly seemed to notice.

Arya struggled to find the right words in Valyrian. “Where are the Northerners? Where is Jon Snow?”

The soldier spit out a mouthful of blood and a couple of teeth before answering. “They were meant to come by sea and meet us inside the walls. We have not seen them.”

“By sea?”

“They took the queen’s ships. They are not here,” he said. He smacked her on the shoulder the way soldiers do to one another and drove back into the throng.

*

The great hall was as full as it had ever been. It reminded Jon of easier times, when it was just him and his friends drinking ale and tearing the mickey out of each other.

_Brothers of the Night’s Watch._

The Night’s Watch was dead now – irrelevant, too. There were three brothers left including Jon and Sam, but they weren’t watchers anymore. The other one was a builder called Gatsin who was blind in one eye and deaf in one ear from the battle with the wildlings, and he’d lost most of his right arm in the battle with the dead.

Jon sat in his old seat at the head table, looking down on the people eating. Only a fraction of the Northerners and wildlings could fit inside the hall, even packed to the rafters as it was.

Tormund, Lady Karstark, Lord Glover, Davos, and a handful of others sat with Jon. Sansa felt unwell and couldn’t come out to eat; Brienne was with her.

What was he going to do about her? And what about Arya?

He downed his ale in one go and excused himself. Hopefully all the stress of the last few weeks with Daenerys would put him right to sleep. Hopefully he’d figure out what to do next.  Hopefully he would feel better in the morning.

*

The bleeding wouldn’t stop.

Maybe if Arya took the time to properly dress it, she’d be able to staunch the endless flow, but she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to.

She was close to the keep now, less than a minute away if she kept running. The flames were the worst by the castle, but she kept going. Jon was there. She had to warn him to leave while he still had the chance.

She was crossing a threshold into the Tower of the Hand when the dragon settled on top of it.

The dragon swatted one of the adjoining towers with his tail. The rocks fell faster than Arya could run. The first one knocked her to the ground. The second hit her skull.

*

Jon stared up at the ceiling. He drifted in and out of sleep for what felt like hours before a ribbon of light cut across his face.

Sansa stood in the doorway, her enormous frame blocking out most of the light from the torches. She swallowed back the lump in her throat.

She needed him to hold her and kiss her and touch her and promise everything would be all right. She couldn't stand the thought that he might reject her. 

“Jon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah that battle sequence was shit, but I've got big plans for the aftermath! And for Jon and Sansa, obviously


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally getting that Jonsa fluff!

Jon sat up slowly. The sight of Sansa in her thin nightgown with her hair unbound around her shoulders was breathtaking. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t come to me.” Her voice cracked with the effort of holding back tears. No matter how angry he was, he shouldn’t leave her all alone, especially since the pregnancy kept her emotions so high. He should’ve come to her directly after supper and apologize for shouting at her, and then he should get under the covers with her and hold her until she fell asleep.

He swallowed. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

 _You know nothing, Jon Snow_. Ygritte was right: he didn’t know anything. She would’ve smacked him by now for being such a fool.

Jon stood up and crossed the room to Sansa. He took her candle with one hand and set the other on the small of her back to guide her to the bed. Neither one seemed aware that he was naked.

Jon sat her at the top of the bed so she could rest her back on the pillows. She watched him silently as he tucked the blankets around her. He didn’t look at her stomach.

“Why don’t you look?” she asked softly.

Jon ignored her. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. You need rest.”

“I’m not an invalid.”

“That’s not –” Jon cut himself off and shut his eyes.

Wasn’t he set to marry her just this morning? Hadn’t he dreamt about picking her up and kissing her? About promising her and the baby that he’d never leave them again for as long as he lived?

He wanted to say and do all those things. But he was still too angry. She compared him to Rhaegar.

Sansa wanted to kiss a smile onto his lips, but she bit back the urge. She wouldn’t do anything until she got a proper apology from him. “You shouldn’t have snapped at me,” she finally said.

“You shouldn’t have compared me to Rhaegar. You were trying to provoke me.” he was right, of course.

Sansa shook her head. “I told you there’s nothing you could do. I was trying to how you. Rhaegar was said to be the best prince the realm ever had, and even he couldn’t protect his family.”

 _Gods, please, I don’t want to fight_ , she thought. _Not now_.

“His second family,” Jon said darkly. “He abandoned the first.”

Sansa said his name softly and cupped his face in her hands. “You didn’t abandon me. “

“I should’ve been here.” He still couldn’t open his eyes. He put one of his hands over hers, holding it against his cheek. “I promised I would always stay with you.”

Sansa was genuinely confused. “When?”

“That first night after you told me you loved me. You asked me to stay with you and I said I would.”

Sansa resisted the urge to laugh. She’d only meant that she wanted him to stay and hold her, not stay by her side every second of every day, but of course Jon thought it was a solemn vow. “Jon, I’m not angry with you for going south.” She was irritated because he came home early and certainly put himself and their family in jeopardy, but that wasn’t a conversation to have now.

Jon bowed his head low enough for his forehead to touch Sansa’s bump. This was the first time he’d acknowledged it. “I shouldn’t have left you, either,” he said to the baby.

Sansa ran her fingers through his hair, gently untangling the dark curls in the hope it would soothe him.

She had a talent for insulting him by likening him to failed kings and princes.

_Do you think I’m Joffrey?_

_You’re as far from Joffrey as anyone I’ve ever met._

“I’m sorry I compared you to Rhaegar,” she said. “That wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t.”  He dragged his head up to look at her. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

Sansa tried to shrug it off. “I shouldn’t have made –”

“You were afraid of me.” He didn’t leave it open for interpretation.

Sansa anxiously started braiding her hair back. “Yes, I was afraid of you, but only for a moment. Can we please talk about something else?” She was embarrassed – ashamed, even. She and Jon argued constantly but no matter how angry he got she was never afraid of him. She had no reason to be. It was a foolish reaction.

“I would never hurt you, Sansa. Either of you.” He could hardly get the second bit out. His fingertips brushed over her belly. It still didn’t quite register that a child was in there. His child. He hadn’t been there to watch it grow, hadn’t felt it move.

Sansa took his hand and pressed it flat over her skin. She wouldn’t let him pull it away. “I know. I just forgot for a moment, that’s all. I know you’ll look after us.”

The candle at his bedside cast just enough light for Jon to see his big, rough hand splayed out over the fabric of Sansa’s thin nightgown. “It feels like I’m asleep,” he said after a moment. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up and this will all be gone . . .”

“Do you want it to go away?” Sansa could hardly get the question out. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears as Jon looked back and forth between them.

“No. I don’t want this to go away.”

He pressed his lips to hers in a gentle but possessive kiss. He took her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged it the slightest bit. He brushed his nose over hers so she would tilt her head the way he wanted. It was hard to reach her lips with her belly in the way; he scooted up one the bed so that he sat beside her. He didn’t take his hand off of her stomach at any point.

*

Arya woke with the sun in her eyes.

She was laid out on a cot. Her shoes were off and the laces of her doublet were loose, but she was otherwise fully clothed.

The ringing in her ears faded by the time she remembered what had happened. She knew she was somewhere in the Red Keep now. The chamber had no discerning features. Half the ceiling and one of the walls were gone. There were at least two dozen other people spread across the floor, all with various levels of injury – an elderly missing two fingers, a royal servant with half her body blackened and blistered by dragon fire.

There were no septas to attend to the injured; those who survived Cersei’s attack on the Sept of Baelor fled the capital. There were a handful of women – midwives, most likely – rushing from cot to cot with herbs and bowls of hot water. They didn’t seem to notice or care that Arya was awake.

It took a long time to stand up; each time Arya gained her feet, a horrible chill rushed through her head and pushed her back onto the bed.

She had a vague idea of where she was headed as she walked through the castle’s crumbling halls. How did Daenerys expect to rule from a ruined castle? And what did she expect to rule? Rubble and ashes and burnt bodies?

Arya descended the steps into a meeting hall as she thought. The long table and chairs were pristine, but half of one wall was missing. Its view of Blackwater Bay was lovely.

“Arya.” Daenerys smiled pleasantly as she took a seat at the far end of the table. She motioned for Arya to do the same, and then instructed a servant to retrieve something. “It’s good to see you awake.” There was a genuine smile on her face.

Arya remained icy. “How long was I out?”

“Only a night, but your head wound was bleeding quite a lot. The healers transferred blood to you.”

Transference was rarely used and hardly worked, but Arya felt quite well. It was a messy procedure that involved bleeding a donor into a bottle and then pumping it through a tube into the receiver’s arm.

“Whose blood did they give me?”

“Green Louse volunteered.”

Arya assumed the name belonged to an Unsullied. “I’ll have to thank him.”

The servant returned with a big bundle in her arms. She set it down on the table and took her leave.

“What’s this?” Arya asked as she pulled aside the wrapping.

“Your effects.”

Littlefinger’s dagger, Catelyn’s hair pins, and Needle’s handle. The blade had broken clear off. Arya palmed it. “Do you know where the blade is?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Daenerys said. “I’m having a chamber made up for you if you wish to rest.” She was perfectly pleasant.

Arya almost thought for a moment that Dany was a decent person. Almost.

Arya wanted to ask about Jon and the Northern soldiers, why they hadn’t come to fight for the dragon queen. Jon must’ve found out about the baby and gone back to Winterfell. The question now was how much Daenerys knew.

“Where’s Tyrion?” Arya asked.

The façade cracked the slightest bit. “He’s been detained in the pantries with his brother.”

“Jaime’s here?”

Daenerys leaned back in her chair and picked up her goblet of wine. “Tyrion let him pass through our defenses at Dragonstone.”

“And Cersei?”

“No one knows except Jaime and perhaps Tyrion, and they refuse to speak. Oh – my soldiers found something else by you, but we didn’t know if it was yours.” Dany produced the remains of Robb’s stuffed toy.

“Yes, that’s mine.”

“I didn’t think you were the sort to keep poppets.”

“I don’t. I found it in my mother’s old room at Riverrun.”

Dany’s smile returned. “You must be exhausted. You’ll need plenty of rest until that head wound heals. I’ll have someone show you to your room. I’ll post a guard outside in case you need anything.”

Arya understood what Dany meant: She was a hostage.

*

Jon had hoped Sansa would let her touch him – assuming that was still possible, of course – but she fell asleep before he could broach the subject.

Gods, he wanted her. She was soft and sweet and warm, and her belly, which should’ve put him off, only made him want her more. She loved him. She was carrying his baby. She didn’t have to; there were ways to stop the baby’s growth if one was so inclined. But she didn’t. 

He finally gave up on sleep around dawn.

Jon knew he should take Sansa back to her room before the rest of the castle woke, if only for appearance’s sake, but he didn’t want to wake her, and he wasn’t sure he could carry her. Sansa was plenty light, but the baby certainly wasn’t. At this rate, the baby would be the same size as Arya by the time it was born.

Ghost was asleep outside Jon’s room, just in front of the door. He slipped through as Jon walked out and automatically took his place on the bed. Sansa, still deeply asleep, held a fistful of his fur.

The dress Jon found in Sansa’s chambers was not her usual style. It was a greyish blue with beautiful embroidery on the neckline and cuffs. It was unstructured and there was no waist at all.

It was clearly made in a hurry and altered several times to accommodate Sansa’s rapidly-expanding stomach.

He should’ve been there to lighten her load. She should’ve had time to make lovely dresses for herself and clothes for the baby and prepare the nursery and be relaxed and excited for the future. But instead they were stuck in a shitstorm.

“Jon?” Sansa’s soft call came from the doorway. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Jon mustered up a smile. “I was just getting you a dress. The queen can’t go walking around in her nightclothes.”

“The queen can hardly walk at all.” Sansa sat down on the bed beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned against him. “I love you, Jon. I’m happy you’re here.”

Jon smirked. “I don’t think you can be happy and angry at the same time.”

“It’s entirely possible for a woman in my condition.”

“A woman in your condition ought to be married.”

Jon regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt. He had it all planned out, or at least he thought he did – it was the only thing he could think of during the journey to Castle Black.

It took a moment for Sansa to reply. “Have you gone mad?” Her tone suggested it was a genuine inquiry.

“Maybe,” Jon said.

Damn, her eyes were so blue. Their baby’s eyes would be blue, too, at least he hoped they would. He wanted the child to look exactly like her – a perfect replication of his own sweet Sansa. _His own_.

“Will you marry me?” he asked softly.

Sansa could only nod her head in reply. She buried her face in Jon’s chest, arms around his neck, as she tried desperately not to cry.

Jon wordlessly swore never to abandon his family again and thanked her for the baby and for agreeing to marry him. He didn’t have to say any of it. Sansa knew. She’d always known.

*

Arya tried her best not to fall asleep, but she was too weak to even stand. She woke a few times when servants brought in food. She swore to stay awake and plan each time, but it didn’t work.

There was no use in running away: Daenerys wouldn’t harm her, and Arya was too weak to escape. And Dany would certainly take her North when the time came, probably to use as a bargaining chip. She’d just have to be patient until then.

She fell back asleep after breakfast but woke again when a terrified young woman tapped her shoulder. Arya sat bolt upright, ignoring the ache in her skull, ready to defend the woman from whatever threat was near, but there was nothing.

“Why are you frightened?” Arya asked. She still didn’t relax; she knew she’d fall asleep again if she did.

“The queen is going to kill Jaime Lannister. She wants you to be there.”

“A stranger’s execution frightens you? Haven’t you seen one before?

“No, milady, it’s not the execution that frightens me. The dragon does. I saw it grabbing people in the streets.” She shook her head.

“It’s over now,” Arya said. It was the only consolation she could offer.

*

Tyrion’s hands were unbound despite the fact that he was technically a prisoner now. He stood near the queen with his jaws clenched and his hands balled into fists.

Jaime wasn’t there yet, but there were a handful of prisoners already waiting in the bailey. The Unsullied stood in a perfect square along the pillars, an unbreakable wall.

Daenerys didn’t acknowledge Arya’s arrival. Grey Worm was at least polite enough to scowl at her. Tyrion’s eyes flickered to her, but they went straight back to the prisoners below them.

They were halfway down the long staircase so the prisoners and warriors could still hear their queen speak while still standing in the dirt beneath her.

Daenerys wasted no time. “Euron Greyjoy, you are accused of treason. You served the false queen, Cersei Lannister.”

So this was Theon’s uncle. He looked how Arya thought he would, smiley and lithe and dressed all in leather.

Euron smiled wickedly. “I didn’t serve her, I fucked her. Although that is serving, in a way.”

Tyrion bristled.

“We were meant to get married, you know. But I think the engagement is broken. You and I are free to speak.” He winked.

“Do you know where she is?”

“No. But if you were mine, I’d never let you out of my sight. And you’d never let me out of you.”

Dany was oblivious to his flirtations. “If you have any last words, now is the time.”

He frowned. “Don’t make a decision you’ll regret. I hear you like ships. I have quite a lot.”

“Not anymore.” She nodded to her soldiers and said something in Valyrian.

A few Unsullied stepped out of line to obey their queen’s command. Euron was hit with three spears at once. Cursing, he fell to his knees. None of the wounds were fatal.

Arya wondered if she planned to watch the man bleed to death, but a fourth Unsullied stepped forward, slit his throat wide open, and returned to his place in line. They retrieved their spears but left his body where it fell.

There was a short delay as Dany and Grey Worm spoke quietly. They didn’t seem to notice when Jamie was led into the square, a Dothraki rider on either side of him.

Tyrion leapt between them to beg for his brother’s life. Arya kept her focus on Jaime.

He looked quite well. He hadn’t been beaten or burnt, and Arya doubted most of the blood on his clothes even belonged to him. He wasn’t bound, nor was he wearing his golden hand. Cersei probably had it now, assuming she was alive.

Daenerys straightened up as Tyrion fell away. There was nothing he could do for Jaime. Whether she was mad or not, Daenerys was within in her rights as a victor. But that didn’t make it any easier.

“Ser Jaime Lannister, you stand accuse of treason against your true monarchs and the murder of your king. Have you anything to say in your defense?”

“I told you why I killed your father,” Jaime said simply. “As for the other charge, I know no queen but my sister whose name is Cersei Lannister.” He couldn’t hide his self-satisfied smirk.

 _We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark_.

How many times had they heard those words at Winterfell? How many times did Dany clutch her hands together so tightly her fingers nearly broke?

“Tell me where your sister is,” Dany managed.

“And what will you give me if I do?”

“A quick death.”

He didn’t respond for a long time. “I don’t know where she is specifically. I know her general region, though I’m not going to share that with you. She doesn’t want the crown anymore, Dany.”

Everyone stiffened at his casual use of her nickname.

“She just wants to raise our baby in peace. Surely you wouldn’t kill a baby.”

“I was a baby when Robert Baratheon first tried to kill me,” the queen snapped. A terrible calm came over her then. “He taught me a very important lesson. No matter how innocent a child is, it always grows up and comes back looking to take what belongs to them. Just as I did.”

She continued with barely a beat between sentences. “If you have any last words, Kingslayer, now is the time.”

“Tell Brienne I’m sorry,” Jaime said to Tyrion. “She deserved better than me. You did, too.”

Tyrion swallowed. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

The Dothraki started circling Jaime from atop their horses, hiding him from view. They picked up their speed and screamed and dropped their arakhs on Jaime the way butchers drop cleavers on meat. His blood splattered their faces. They smiled triumphantly at their queen.

Dany said something to them in Dothraki. They dismounted and set about hacking Jaime’s body apart.

One of the Unsullied climbed the steps and knelt before his queen, holding out the Lannister blade. “It belonged to your enemy, who you defeated in battle.”

Daenerys hardly took the time to look at it. “Melt it down and add it to the rest. By the end of this, I’ll have a rather large throne.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys like the direction I've taken this story in. It wasn't my original plan so it feels a bit rough to me. Anyway, there's finally some smut.

Dany sent ravens to several of the great houses inviting them to King’s Landing to swear fealty to the new queen.

The Reach was leaderless, and the Westerlands, too, so there was no point in sending ravens there. She’d be able to take them easily by conquest. The Iron Islands and the Stormlands were loyal to Daenerys, she knew, as she installed both their leaders.

The letters went out to the Riverlands, the Vale, and Dorne. There was no use in sending one to the North.

Dorne replied that they’d never bowed to the dragons before and would not bow to them now. They also mentioned Rhaegar’s failure to protect Elia and her children, the principality’s only link to the Iron Throne.

Lord Royce of the Vale replied on behalf of Lord Arryn. The boy was still learning to rule, he said, and was in no position to make alliances with anyone other than his kin – the Tullys and the Starks. He wished her good fortune in the wars to come.

Lord Tully’s reply on behalf of the Riverlands listed all the issues his region currently faced. The houses were reluctant to rejoin the fold after the chaos of war left their lands destroyed and their people depleted. He sounded pitiful. The list went on, but Daenerys stopped reading there.

All reports said Edmure Tully was a fool in over his head. And if it was true that the various river lords were isolating themselves, it would be easy to take them one by one until Daenerys had domain over the region.

She’d have to call on Yara and Gendry for their military support. She could call on the Second Sons, too.

Yes, the Riverlands, Reach, and Westerlands would be easy to conquer. The North and the Vale would certainly form an alliance, and supposedly the Vale was even harder to campaign through because –

“Your grace.”

Daenerys turned around.

Black Gnat and Cockroach, two high-ranking Unsullied, bowed from the doorway. “We mounted the bodies on spikes, just as you instructed,” said Cockroach.

“Good. Have any other ravens come since this morning? Were any addressed to Varys?”

“No, your grace. No ravens.”

“You may leave.”

The soldiers bowed and took their leave.

No ravens. What happened to Varys’s network of little birds?

Little birds, three-eyed ravens, crows on the Wall – Dany was damn tired of it, even though she’d only taken the capital four days ago.

She sighed heavily and picked the burnt doll up from the table beside her. Arya’s doll. No doubt it was meant to be a gift for Sansa’s child. That thought made her furious.

Bloody Sansa and the damn North and Jon fucking Snow and these stupid, stubborn, ridiculous people.

Viserys taught her that Essos was full of savages and fools, that Westeros was peopled with superior stock. And what a bloody fool he was.

*

They interrogated Brodick just after dawn.

He wasn’t passing information to Daenerys, he said, just to Varys, and Varys turned on Dany. He supported Sansa’s right to rule the North.

Bran couldn’t confirm or deny much. He only knew things that happened, not why they happened or what people were feeling when they did.

Pod, Brienne, Jon, and Tormund were present as well. They continually glared at the prisoner, occasionally chiming in to ask their own questions.

Brodick was on his knees at the center of the room. “Your grace, I swore my life to you and to your issue thereafter.” He nodded to her stomach. “That child is my future king or queen. I would not see it harmed, bastard or not. Especially by some foreign whore.”

Davos dug his fingernails into Jon’s forearm to keep him from strangling Brodick. The knight hadn’t meant it as an insult, but Jon perceived it as such. He shut his eyes and took deep breaths to keep himself from lunging at the man.

He and Sansa would be married soon, he reminded himself. And then the child wouldn’t be a bastard anymore.

 “Ser Brodick will remain alive for the moment,” Sansa said. She turned to Jon. “I would have a word with you, Lord Snow.”

*

Daenerys and Arya ate their supper together in relative silence. Tyrion came in halfway through the meal with a flask in one hand and a pitcher in the other. “Your grace.” He bowed low, sloshing wine onto the floor. “You requested the pleasure of my presence?”

“Dine with us,” Dany said.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Tyrion wrinkled his nose in concentration as he thought of a good excuse. “Surely your grace wouldn’t lower herself by eating with a drunken little half’s a whore’s sister and the brother got chopped up.” He stopped speaking coherently only a few words into his explanation. He seemed to forget his reluctance, too, for he plopped down in a chair at the center of the table; Arya was on one end and Daenerys on the other.

A servant brought him a pewter dish which she started stacking with meat and bread. Tyrion squeezed her backside as she bent over the table.

“You may leave us,” Dany said. “And take the wine with you. Lord Tyrion has had quite enough.”

Tyrion frowned but did not object. “That’s for the breast. I’ll ink you out of hearth and own,” he said.

Arya had never seen a man so drunk. If Dany did – and she was sure she had – she didn’t remember. The servant refilled Dany’s goblet before leaving.

“What is it you plan to do with me?” Arya asked suddenly. Her tone was harsh; she hoped to catch the queen off-guard and use that momentary weakness to her advantage. “You’re too smart to try to kill me.”

“When do you think the baby will come?” Daenerys asked. She took a large swig of her wine. “Last I heard, Sansa was the size of a horse. Ready to pop any day.”

Tyrion became violently ill then. He wrecked the table and serving platters and his clothes, too. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, though that only spread the mess around instead of cleaned it. “Sansna’s punent?” he sputtered.

*

Sansa and Jon did not have their conversation until it was time for bed. There was much to be done in preparation for the coming battle, and Jon and Sansa were pulled in opposite directions to help fix various problems.

Sansa was getting cold feet about the wedding, and she wasn’t sure how to tell Jon. Her previous marriages were prisons used to keep her submissive and weak. A marriage to Jon wouldn’t be like that, of course, but the word _wife_ still made bile rise in her throat.

My beloved wife, my dear wife, my beautiful bride. Ramsay never called Sansa by her name; he only addressed her through terms of endearment that reminded her of the hold he had over her.

Jon would certainly understand, but Sansa still wasn’t eager to discuss all this with him. Luckily, Jon didn’t want to talk.

He sat beside her in bed, running his fingers through her hair. How could it be so soft and so long? He’d never seen her brush her mane, and yet there was never a knot. He missed touching her hair. He missed touching everything.

“If I wanted to touch you . . . would it be safe? Will it hurt . . .”

“No, it won’t,” she assured him. “Maester Wolkin told me so. But I don’t know how to do it. I can’t lie on my back anymore, and I don’t – I don’t –”

“I won’t,” Jon said firmly. He knew right away what she was trying to say.

Ramsay always took her from behind. Jon promised that they would always make love face to face, and he would always look in her eyes so she could see how much he loved her.

“I’ll use my fingers,” Jon said; Sansa blushed. “Lean back. I want to see you.” He helped her lean further onto the pillows so that she was only halfway sitting up. He kept one arm under her head to support it as his free hand undid the ribbons holding her nightgown closed over her chest.

Her breasts were swollen, nipples puffy and pink. He could see some of her blue veins through her pale skin. Jon gently brushed his thumb over one. “Does it hurt?”

“It’s sore sometimes,” Sansa admitted.

Jon pressed a gentle kiss to the top of each breast. “Does that feel better?”

She nodded, smiling, but her face quickly returned to a frown. “It’s ugly.”

“It’s beautiful.” He kissed them again before shifted his focus to her belly. He traced patterns over it with his fingertips. His touch was feather-light.

“He moves sometimes,” Sansa said softly. “Or she.”

Jon’s head shot up and he stared at her with wide eyes. “When? How often?”

“When I’m upset, mostly. Or when I’m trying to go to sleep. He keeps me awake.”

“Or she,” Jon added. He kissed the top of her belly. It was a short, soft kiss; his lips barely brushed against her. “And I’m sure she doesn’t mean to. She probably just wants your attention.”

Sansa pet Jon’s hair. “Like you do.”

He smiled widely and kissed her belly again. He slowly started pulling up her nightgown, but he didn’t touch her center yet. Instead, he trailed his fingertips along her legs while he looked into her eyes. “You’re as big as a house.” He smiled so widely his cheeks hurt. “You’re beautiful.”

She leaned into his shoulder as he parted her slick folds. Her hand instinctively moved to his hardness. He shuddered; he nearly finished then and there. He was gone for months, and his hands were nowhere near as satisfying as Sansa’s. She was as sensitive to his touch as he was to hers.

He wanted to tell her about those dreams he had, what he did with his tongue and how she responded.

Jon was too absorbed in the sensations to speak. He set his cheek on top of Sansa’s head; he could feel her ragged breaths against his neck. She was unbelievably hot and swollen and wet.  “What did you do when I was gone?” he asked. She whined as he slipped a fingertip in the slightest bit. “Did you touch yourself and imagine it was me?”

“No,” Sansa managed.

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.” She sounded like a child confessing her mischief to her parents. “My belly’s too big. I can’t reach.”

Jon moved his face to look in her eyes. There was a long moment of silence before he burst out laughing.

Gods, he hadn’t properly laughed for years before he and Sansa reunited. And who would’ve guessed that Sansa of all people would be the one to cause it. She was so serious and angry, and he was so serious and sullen, but they transformed into completely different people when they were alone together.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Sansa commanded, but she was giggling, too. “You did this!”

Jon was laughing too hard to reply. He kissed her playfully; he removed his finger from her sheath and thrust back in demandingly. Sansa arched her back, whimpering, and instinctively tightened her grip on his shaft. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, a smile in his voice.

“With your mouth?”

Jon chuckled again. He nodded at her belly. “I think I might suffocate.”

“Oh, that’s cruel!” Sansa pouted theatrically. She started to roll away, but Jon caught her and kissed her.

Her center was feverishly hot. Her folds were a deep pink that demanded attention, and her arousal glistened over the flesh. She was dripping with it.

He was so hard he could feel the blood as it moved through his manhood. He took some of her essence onto his fingers and smeared it on his tip. Sansa delicately spread it all around his part.

Maybe suffocation was worth it, he thought to himself. She looked so ripe and juicy, like a peach in summer. He ached to taste her.

Sansa made the decision for him when she impatiently tugged his hand to her center; she wanted him to use his hands. Sansa immediately started writhing when the heel of Jon’s hand bumped against her taut peak.

He tried to keep his movements deliberate, but Sansa’s eagerness drove him to distraction. She nipped at his shoulder and neck, demanding his complete attention as her thumb started circling his tip.

She tilted her hips up into his hand, desperate for more.

He slipped a second finger into her slick opening and curled upwards, desperate to find that special spot that would bring her to fulfillment. Her hips bucked when he made contact with the sensitive flesh.

That was all it took to throw her over the edge. She didn’t writhe as much as she usually did, as her movements were heavily restricted these days, but her hands moved in the best way possible around Jon’s shaft. He finished only seconds later.

Sansa was immobilized for the moment. She could only watch as Jon brought his slick fingers to his mouth and cleaned them of her juices. Her thigh was sticky with his, but she didn’t move to clean it up – she was exhausted, and she couldn’t reach it, anyway.

Jon reached down and scooped up more of her arousal. She grimaced; she was about to tell him he was being disgusting when he hummed low. “I missed your taste.” Sansa giggled. “Why is that funny?”

She shook her head. “I really didn’t think you would touch me till after the birthing.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Look at me! I’m the size of a bear. I could’ve just as easily eaten you as made love to you.”

“Eat me?”

“Yes. I still might. Though not in the way you’re thinking.”

*

Jon was nearly asleep when Sansa woke him again. “Jon!”

He couldn’t open his eyes. “Hmm?”

“Get up, Jon. He’s moving!”

His eyes snapped open and he sat up straight. Sansa lay facing him on her side, a hand rubbing the side of her stomach. She wore a wide smile; her eyes were misty.

Jon reached out several times but always pulled his hand back. He still wasn’t comfortable touching her belly.

He remembered, as a child, whenever Catelyn was expecting, she’d let his brothers and sisters feel the baby kick and squirm. Jon was never allowed to. She said he’d be too rough, that he’d hurt the child. Robb would come to Jon’s defense, as he always did. He’d rail at his mother that Jon was entitled to feel her belly, too, since it was his little brother or sister, and that he would be perfectly gentle, and she damn well knew it.

Jon always left the room during these arguments. He didn’t want to make Catelyn angry because that could upset the baby, and part of him believed that he probably would hurt it. That stuck with him. He was afraid to touch Sansa there too much because he was sure he’d hurt her.

Sansa huffed, impatient, and grabbed him by the wrist as she had the night before. She set his hand down flat over the apex of her stomach and held it there.

There was a long moment of stillness and silence. And then Jon felt something bump his palm. He instinctively pulled his hand away, but Sansa brought it back. The bump came again, gentler this time, and Jon unconsciously pressed against Sansa’s stomach, desperate to feel the bump again.

Sansa smiled up at him. “He recognizes you.”

*

Davos straightened his arms over his head, groaning over the tightness in his shoulders and neck. He was having more trouble carving than usual. He’d already wrecked his first two attempts at making the wolf for Sansa’s baby. His mind kept wandering.

He wasn’t concerned about Arya; she could more than take care of herself, regardless of her situation. Jon bet she’d figure out a way to break the Unsullied from within, maybe even break Daenerys.

The dragon would be their biggest problem when the attack came, Davos knew. The dead dragon burnt down a good chunk of the Wall to let the wights through. The surviving one was the biggest of the bunch, and he’d just wrecked King’s Landing with ease.

The beast could make the Wall collapse, crush the women and children hiding in the tunnels without batting an eye.

Daenerys was nothing on her own – very angry and very smart, but also very small and physically weak. They had to separate her from the Unsullied to get to her. That would be easy enough, but getting her away from the dragon would be damn difficult.

The solution came to him all at once. He bumped the table as he shot up from his seat. The candlesticks fell to the ground and snapped in half, plunging the room into darkness.

Wargs could enter animals’ minds, bend them to their will. Bran was a warg. The dragon was an animal.

Davos cursed, practically the only thing he did anymore. “Fuck me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to keep posting on a weekly basis but I have a touch of writer's block (and a shitty job) so I can't make any promises


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is kind of a filler. I'm trying to power through the writer's block but it's super annoying.

Daenerys told the midwives that Tyrion must be dried out. He would not touch another drop of wine. She wanted his mind to be sharp. There were still no true healers about, at least none that came forward, and so the midwives were left to the tasks.

Arya refused to let them touch her. Her head wound was healing well enough on its own, and the midwives would undoubtedly tell Daenerys everything Arya said and did during their meeting.

Arya had first thought to escape, since killing Daenerys wasn’t possible at the moment, but she realized it would be better if she stayed. They would eventually take her north. Perhaps she’d wipe out a few dozen Dothraki on the journey.

Daenerys was right, though: Sansa was ready to give birth any day now. She’d been nearly as big as Gilly was when Arya left; she must barely be able to move now. Jon and Brienne and Ghost were with her – they’d probably carry Sansa from room to room if she demanded it.

It was the birthing that concerned Arya. Catelyn had delivered five healthy babies with no complications, but many women were not so lucky.

Sansa wouldn’t die, not if Arya had anything to say about it, and she wanted to say quite a lot.

*

Maester Wolkin gave the order that his queen should be on bedrest. She did not react well.

Jon and Brienne were the only others privy to this information. Jon was ready to tie her to the bed if he had to. He even threatened to lock Sansa in her bedchamber. He assured her that none of the Northerners would think her weak: she was a woman carrying a child, not just a queen, and her baby’s health should be her highest priority. Jon would take over in the meantime, since he’d be king again soon and because Sansa trusted him.

Brienne wanted Sansa to be able to attend to some of her duties. She certainly shouldn’t leave the keep or be out of bed past sundown, but she’d have some measure of autonomy. She wouldn’t have to lift a finger, anyway, since everyone was falling all over themselves to offer her assistance.

The maester’s mandate did help Sansa in one regard: She could put off her wedding without hurting Jon’s feelings. He’d likely barricade her indoors if she broached the topic of walking to the Godswood.

She did want to marry Jon. She loved him. She carried his child. She wanted him by her side. But husbands owned their wives. Jon wouldn’t treat her like property, she knew, but the law placed him above her. She would not submit to anyone for any reason. Not again. She and Jon would be equals.

Besides, Wolkin suggested that Sansa and Jon minimize their lovemaking to avoid “starting things up.” He was aware of their ferocious appetites for each other, and he certainly couldn’t tell them to stop all together, so he told them they could engage every two to three days.

Davos seemed half-mad. He had a thousand plots and plans which rushed out all at once. He’d taken to staring at fires again and enlisted Sam’s help in researching the Red God.

*

Sansa wasted no time knighting Podrick. His eyes grew misty during the ceremony; this was all he had ever wanted.

Sansa managed to escape her followers after that. It was only for twenty or thirty minutes, but it was enough. Davos was the first to stumble upon her, followed closely by Brienne. She’d somehow found her way into the library, where she pulled up a chair in front of a window. The view was of the snow and forest rather than the courtyard.

“Your grace,” Brienne said. “It’s nearly time to eat. May I help you back to your chamber?”

“Jon turned on Daenerys because she was violent,” Sansa said. “Isn’t that true, Davos?”

“Yes, your grace,” Davos said cautiously. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this.

“I’m violent, too,” Sansa said.

“You’re nothing like Daenerys,” Brienne said, shaking her head dismissively.

There was a long pause. “Do you know what I did to Ramsay’s men?” Sansa asked Davos.

“No, your grace.”

“I sought out every last one of them. Any man that I recognized even a bit from seeing him with Ramsay. My men hunted them down like animals – just like Ramsay would do. Lined them all up against a wall and had my archers shoot every last arrow they had. Some of the men were still alive, so my archers pulled out their knives and finished the job. That’s something Daenerys would do.”

“You were treated monstrously. You had a right to vengeance. You punished them for their crimes as the law demands. You didn’t slaughter or skin them. You didn’t have them defiled. You executed them. That’s all.”

“They didn’t all slaughter and skin people. I doubt they all raped women.”

“You had a right to vengeance,” he said again. “Every man, woman, and child.” Sansa frowned. “I can’t imagine what he did to you, your grace. Just the thought of it frightens me. Most people wouldn’t have survived it. But you did. And by executing those men, you protected everyone in the North, not just the women. You gave them quick deaths,” he added. “That’s something Daenerys wouldn’t do.”

“Do you think Jon sees it like that?”

“He loves you,” Brienne said.

“Perhaps you should rest, your grace,” Davos said. “You’ve been standing too long in the cold.”

*

Tyrion sounded like someone was torturing him. Arya could hear him bellowing and cursing all day and night. She escaped the sound by going to a stone platform overlooking the water. She practiced with her knife there.

A pair of Unsullied followed her wherever she went – Cockroach and Green Louse. Cockroach clearly despised the Stark girl and her traitorous family. He couldn’t speak any common and assumed Arya couldn’t speak Valyrian. He felt quite safe whinging about his unwanted duty.

Green Louse was enchanted. There was no other word for it. He nearly leapt out of his skin when Arya finally spoke to him. “Green Louse. Come here. I need someone to spar with me.”

The Unsullied were meant to be strong and silent, but Green Louse talked Arya’s ear off. He was among the last crop of warriors to pass their trials before Daenerys freed them. Arya thought he was her age, or possibly even younger.

He was the one who found Arya buried under all the rocks. The blood transference was his idea. He even carried her back to the keep.

Arya quite liked his company, but she certainly didn’t trust him. His former masters asked him to kill a baby. He did. His new master would ask him to kill a baby, too.

*

Jon had difficulty hiding his anxiety from Sansa. His nightmares became worse and worse each night. And they were all the same: Sansa, pale and cold at the center of the bed. The bedclothes covered in blood. A baby screaming somewhere nearby.

He knew it wasn’t his fault that his mother died birthing him, but if something happened to Sansa, he would blame himself. He’s the one who put a child in her belly.

And he still couldn’t imagine it. He couldn’t picture a baby in his arms. The last baby he held was Rickon, and that was a very long time ago.

It was worse when he pictured the child growing. He’d have to teach his son how to fight, how to rule. He didn’t want that. If he never raised a sword again, it would be too soon. He didn’t want his child to fight.

A little girl would almost be worse. Surely she’d learn to defend herself as Arya had, but he didn’t know if it would make much of a difference. Men would turn their gazes to her, and some of those men would be bad. Sansa was raped and beaten and cut. Handed around from fiancé to fiancé like a flagon of ale. He wouldn’t let that happen to his daughter. Even if he had to keep her under lock and key. No one was going to touch her.

Sansa had difficulty hiding her anxiety from Jon.

Her thoughts became darker and darker as the pregnancy progressed.

Could she be a queen and a mother? How could she protect her child from everything, shield it from the harsh realities of the world?

And how was she going to give birth?

The baby grew more every day. Her belly was twice the size Gilly’s had been. How would she deliver such a large child? She heard of birthings where babies were stuck inside their mothers and if they couldn’t get out quickly enough then either the mother or baby would die. Or both.

Jon would be lost if she died. She couldn’t stand that thought.

*

Arya wasn’t surprised when Green Louse came to visit her in her room. She was uncomfortable, though. She wasn’t the sort to use seduction as a weapon, even though seducing a eunuch seemed safe enough.

Green Louse launched right into conversation. “I have to tell you something.” He was nervous, jittery.

Arya stood with her legs apart, hands clasped behind her back. “All right.”

“Daenerys tells me to keep this from you.” He reached into a thin, long pocket in his leather breeches, probably meant for keeping arrows. he pulled a razor-thin blade from it.

“Needle.” Arya gently lifted the little thing from the Unsullied’s hands. “Where did you get this.”

“When I find you, sword is whole. Not broken. Daenerys says to break the sword and keep handle from sharp side.”

“But she let me keep my knife?”

Green Louse shrugged.

“Why did you give me this?”

“Daenerys want babies. Cannot have them. Daenerys want Jon Snow. Cannot have him. Daenerys want to keep Jon Snow and baby for herself. Be mother. be wife.”

“She said she wants Sansa’s baby?”

“I do not know what Daenerys say. Grey Worm talks to other commanders. I listen.”

Arya frowned. “Do you know when we’re leaving?”

Green Louse nodded once. “Next week.”

Arya quickly did the math in her head, counting the months since she noticed Sansa’s change. Nine months. She was due to deliver her baby any day now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you guys didn't hate it!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just found out Richard and Kit are both going to be in Eternals and that put me in the mood to write some Robb/OC/Jon smut, probably AU, so we’ll see if that goes anywhere. It baffles me how attractive they are.  
> I' I’m also planning to do a bunch of drabbles about Sansa and Jon and their family, but I have to wait until Sansa gives birth in this story to avoid spoilers. But it will be super cute! I also want to do drabbles about the Starks when they were kids.

Tyrion looked like a wight. He was pale; his skin seemed to be melting from his bones.

Drying out took longer than they thought it would. Tyrion had grown so reliant on drink that cutting him off all at once likely would’ve killed him. They tapered him off, giving him a little less wine each day until they were certain he would survive. Tyrion was not so certain.

He took to sitting by the patio where Arya trained so he could stare at the water and imagine his escape. He wasn’t a great swimmer by any stretch of the imagination, but he was good enough. His lungs were big compared to the rest of his body and he could float for hours on his back.

But where would he go? Fuck knows what was happening in the Westerlands now. He hadn’t been back home since Myrcella was born, anyway. If he weren’t a dwarf, the people likely wouldn’t be recognize him.

Arya didn’t particularly like his presence, but she didn’t enjoy it either. Green Louse hated it. He wanted Arya all to himself.

“I like you better when you’re drunk,” Arya said on the third day Tyrion joined her.

“As do I,” Tyrion replied, “but our beloved queen, in her infinite wisdom, disagrees.” He eyeballed Green Louse to see if he would get angry, but he hardly seemed to notice. “You have an admirer.”

Arya gave a neutral grunt in reply.

Tyrion hacked out a cough and spat on the ground.

“You sound like shit.”

“I feel like shit.” He adjusted the thick red blanket around his shoulders. “At this rate, I’ll be dead in a year.”

“I’m sure you can come up with a faster way to kill yourself if you try.”

Tyrion snorted. “Is Sansa really having Jon’s baby or was that just a fever dream?” he asked after a pause.

“She’s having his baby.”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows and stared off into the distance. “Brothers fucking sisters everywhere I turn.”

“They’re not brother and sister.”

“I’m not judging,” he said.  “A man who throws stones doesn’t live in a glass house. Or something of that ilk. I’m much smarter when I’m drunk, you know.”

Green Louse made a sour face at that remark. Drinking robbed men of their strength and wits. Dead Tooth, Green Louse’s best friend when they were coming up, made the mistake of trying some ale one night in town. The Master gave him fifteen lashes that left ribbons of flesh dangling from his back. No one was allowed to tend to his wounds. His blood became poison and he died in a week.

Tyrion was a Master, like most other Westerosi lords. One doesn’t need to own slaves to be a master. That’s what Daenerys said. They are Masters by their actions. Another in Green Louse’s battalion once said that not all Masters were terrible. One of the officers executed him for disloyalty.

*

Sansa awoke to a humming sound in her ear and a tickling along her sensitive neck. She kept her eyes closed as she sighed contentedly. Jon praised her for her beauty and strength and the beautiful gift she was giving him.

She couldn’t decide at first if she wanted to encourage him in his ministrations or go back to sleep. She still had that hazy floating feeling one gets when waking from a deep sleep. The decision was made when his hand rose to cup a swollen breast while he nipped at the skin over the pulse-point on her neck.

She moaned, unconsciously wiggling toward Jon’s touch. His mouth went lower and lower. His mouth never left her skin; his praises and promises were impossible to understand, so muffled they were.

He went father and farther still until he reached her breasts and began to kiss.

“Jon – you mustn’t! The milk! I’ll –” Sansa lost the ability to speak when his open mouth fell to her swollen breast and began to suckle. Her embarrassment flew out the window. She always loved it when Jon massaged and suckled her breasts, but it suddenly felt better than ever.

Jon grazed his finger over Sansa’s burning peak. He didn’t apply any extra pressure or add any movement, but his feather-light touch drove her over the edge.

She cried out Jon’s name over and over, her hands knotted in his hair. He couldn’t help but chuckle. She was so sensitive these days – not that he minded. Feeling and watching her finish nearly drove him over the edge.

Sansa hadn’t fully recovered when she tugged at Jon, pulling him onto his knees beside her head. She started unlacing his trousers. He didn’t have the strength to tell her that she didn’t have to, that hands were just as good. She lay on her side, propped up against the pillows. She took him into her mouth.

His head fell backwards and he sighed. He gently brushed her hair away from her face so he could watch her ministrations. He tried to stay in control but he couldn’t stop his fingers from knotting in her hair as his release drew closer and closer. He moaned out her name as he finished.

He collapsed onto the bed beside the mother of his child. Sansa chuckled to herself. “That was quick,” she said.

“You were faster than I was,” Jon argued. He sighed in satisfaction and set his hand over her belly. That familiar fluttering feeling brushed against his palm through Sansa’s skin. “She always moves after you finish.”

“She?” Sansa asked.

“Aye. Arya thinks it’s a girl, too, doesn’t she?” His thumb brushed back and forth over the bump. “And Arya’s always right.”

“Will you be disappointed if it’s a boy, then?”

“Oh, yes. I don’t think I’ll want to marry you if you have a boy.” He grinned wickedly. He could practically count on his fingers all the times he’d smiled and laughed as a child. It seemed to be all he could do since Sansa came back into his life. He’d make sure she and their baby laughed every day – and any other children they might have. But he was getting ahead of himself.

“We ought to start thinking of names.” Jon kissed the top of Sansa’s head and inhaled her sweet scent. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he murmured into her hair.

Sansa was glad he couldn’t see her grimace. She took a deep breath. “Jon –” But his breathing had gone deep and even; the hand over her belly had gone slack. “I love you, Jon,” Sansa whispered.

*

Sam had never helped deliver a baby before – he nearly swooned when he saw Gilly give birth to their new son – but he wanted to help Sansa and Jon in any way that he could.

Gilly and three other women were practically holding their breath waiting for Sansa to deliver her baby. They all prayed she’d give birth before Daenerys’s inevitable arrival; it the baby was not inclined to oblige them.

Jon thought the thing would be the size of a foal when it finally came out. Gilly remarked that there were likely two babies rather than one. Jon’s face lost all its color when he heard that. One child was quite enough. Sansa dismissed the idea; she didn’t want to lose any more focus than she already had.

But she was as nervous as Jon.

She still hadn’t fully adjusted to the idea of motherhood, but she was certain she could look after her child. Keep it happy, keep it safe. She wouldn’t be able to care for two at once. Her attention would be divided; something might slip through the cracks, especially since she had a kingdom to run. She shoved the thought out of her mind. There might not even be two babies, and there was nothing she could do about it anyway.

She’d finally given up on walking about and now took meetings in her chambers. She sat at the top of her bed in a nightgown with the blankets pulled up to her waist. Various documents were strewn about the bed.

She somehow seemed more imposing than ever despite her delicate condition. Even the seasoned warriors in charge of defensive strategy for Dany’s invasion turned to milquetoast in her presence.

Bran was her best company. He didn’t mind staying inside all day, and he could occupy Sansa’s mind with a thousand different stories. She mostly wanted to hear about what Catelyn was like when she was pregnant; it was the closest thing she had to her mother actually being with her.

The most comforting stories were about the Rebellion, when Catelyn was pregnant while Ned was still off at war. Though she had her family and servants with her, she still felt alone. But she had her baby and kept him safe and loved even though she knew he might never meet his father. She was brave.

And this baby would damn well meet its father or so help her, she would go to Essos, find a Red Priest, drag him back to Westeros to revive Jon just so she could kill him herself.

*

Tyrion and Arya were summoned for dinner with Daenerys for the first time in weeks. She was, of course, late to arrive.

There was a torrential downpour outside, which meant most of the half-destroyed castle would be flooded soon if it didn’t let up.

Tyrion spent a long time frowning at the empty goblet before him. “Do you think a Red Priest could bring back someone who’s been dismembered?” he asked casually.

_Could you bring back a man without a head? Not six times. Just once._

“Would it matter if they could?” Arya asked. “There are no Red Priests now.”

The third guest arrived soaked to the bone. They could hear him sloshing around in the hallway, trying to explain something to his escort.

“Who’s that?” Tyrion asked the guards. Cockroach glared him into silence; Green Louse looked just as confused as the Lannister lord. “Well, whoever he is, he must be in great need of a drink,” said Tyrion.

A serving woman came in with a nervous young man at her heels.

“I already ate. I’m not hungry, really. I just want to know what the queen wants –” Gendry stopped rubbing his damp hair when he saw who else was in the room. “Arya.”

Green Louse looked ready kill when he saw the amusement in Arya’s eyes.

“Oh, look, Gendry’s here!” Tyrion said enthusiastically. “Now we can have a proper dinner party. Come, Gendry. Tell us all about your new realm. Do the people like you?”

“Um –” Gendry looked around for a moment before finally taking a seat. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish gasping for air.

“Perhaps a drink of win would calm your nerves?” Tyrion offered.

“No wine for Tyrion,” Cockroach called out from his post in the corner.

Tyrion retorted that he was only being polite to their guest as Gendry took the seat adjacent to Arya’s. His mouth had gone dry.

He was sincerely hoping never to see Arya again after the humiliation he suffered at her hands. What on earth was he supposed to say to her? And how had she come to be in Daenerys’s court? Certainly not by choice.

“My lord,” Arya said, smirking the slightest bit.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What brings you to us?” Tyrion asked. He snapped his fingers at a servant as a signal for her to serve Lord Baratheon.

“I –”

“The Queen!” Grey Worm announced.

Everyone stood as Daenerys floated across the room and took her seat. “Lord Baratheon,” she said. “How many men have you brought to help us take back the North?”

Arya went rigid and turned her furious gaze to Gendry. “You’re going North with her?”

“Yes,” Dany said. “And so are you.”

*

The meal would be painfully silent if it weren’t for Tyrion’s constant chattering. The only real conversation was between Dany and Gendry at the beginning of the meal, and that was really just Gendry saying, in one short breath, that the people of the Stormlands disliked and disrespected him, and that he didn’t have the ability to bring them to heel. Thus, he could not bring more than a hundred or so men to serve her in the North.

It wasn’t until the end of the meal, when the guests were about to leave for bed, that Arya spoke.

“Gendry,” Arya said. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Your mind?” He exchanged a look with Tyrion, who was as confused as he.

“I’ve decided I will marry you after all.”

Even Dany seemed taken aback.

“What?” Gendry was sure he heard wrong.

“I can help you take back the Stormlands,” she said simply.

Gendry opened and closed his mouth for a while he anxiously looked around.

“We’ll have the ceremony tomorrow morning. We’ll return to Storm’s End right away.”

So that was her plan. Gendry was Arya’s ticket out of the castle. She already had him eating out of her hand. And Daenerys couldn’t separate a husband and wife. Gendry was loyal to her but Arya was not. She knew something was off. She just didn’t know what.

Tyrion smirked and held up his goblet of water. “To Lord and Lady Baratheon.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait between chapters; writer's block is a bitch.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so the timeline is kinda screwy but it is what it is. I feel like this story is getting shittier as time goes on. I have massive writer’s block and I’ve been making this up as I go along since Jon found out Sansa was pregnant. I also apologize for the long wait between chapters.

The rain didn’t let up the next morning, though that did not deter Arya. She and Gendry were married at dawn and left straight after the ceremony.

Dany sent along a handful of soldiers to aid the Baratheons in restoring order. Green Louse and Cockroach were among them, since they had already established a relationship with Arya. Green Louse sulked all day long.

Gendry knew he was being used but he didn’t mind so much. He was as anxious as Arya to leave the capital.

He wasn’t lying to Daenerys when he said his people disliked and disdained him. He had a little less than two hundred men who were loyal to him, and they were old enough to remember the Rebellion. Most of them had been with Stannis during the siege of Storm’s End. They did not abandon their lord then. They would not abandon him now, regardless of how inept he was.

Before setting sail for the North, Davos asked Gendry not to fight on behalf of the Queen. He didn’t say why, just alluded to her unreciprocated infatuation with Jon. That seemed reason enough.

Gendry was glad he didn’t have to lie to the Queen; he feared the consequences of such a crime. He still dreamt about what she’d done to Varys nearly every night.

But tonight he tried to push it from his mind. It was his wedding night, after all. Arya might never love him the way he wanted her to, but they were bound together by marriage now, and husbands and wives lived together. He knew she was using him as an excuse to flee the capital, but she was running to _him_. she had to have some tender feelings for him if she was willing to bind herself to him for the rest of her life.

The rain finally stopped around nightfall. The ground was still muddy and slick. Gendry thought they ought to find proper lodgings, or at least fashion some sort of shelter, but Arya didn’t care. It was a waste of time she didn’t have.

She just pulled Gendry into a thicket of trees for privacy.

 

*

The first pains started some eighteen hours after Bran announced that the Dragon Queen would be here soon. He also told Sansa her plans for her baby; he didn’t share that information with Jon. He’d steal the strongest horses and toss Sansa into the back of a cart and take her all the way to Hardhome.

It was Jon’s fault it that the laboring had started, really, Sansa told herself. The maester warned him that finishing inside Sansa would likely induce labor, but of course they ignored him. They needed each other one last time before the battle – properly needed each other, not just hands and mouths.

It was a difficult undertaking at first, since Sansa was the size of a fat mare, but they figured it out soon enough. Sansa lay on her side as Jon shifted his position from behind her to on top of her several times. It was more comfortable for both of them from behind, but they wanted to see each other’s faces, too.

It was a year since they fought the Night King, since they declared and consummated their love. Jon worried that this might be their last time making love.

What if his child tore Sansa open as he had done to Lyanna? What if Daenerys was victorious?

Sansa didn’t fear her own death. She feared losing Jon or the child. The idea of Dany stealing the baby away was somehow worse than the idea of its death.

Bran, Brienne, and Gilly were all aware of Sansa’s condition; she swore them all to silence.

Sansa walked in circles around her room, leaning on Ghost for support. “Is there a way to speed it up?”

“Your water hasn’t broken, but there are certain things to do to get you to that point. But there’s no way to speed up the birth itself.”

“How long did your first child take you?”

“Six hours,” Gilly said reluctantly.

Sansa wanted to weep.

The pains weren’t too bad yet. They felt like menstrual cramps. She just wanted to get on with it all. Gilly assured her that having the pains for a day or two was rather common; it didn’t mean that Sansa or her baby were in any sort of danger, just that they were getting ready.

But Sansa wasn’t ready. She was afraid of the pain and of her child leaving her body. It was safer inside of her. And she was afraid for her people. They had already suffered so much. They faced torture and death over and over, and now they would have to bear it all again.

And she was afraid for Jon, so much so that she couldn’t even put it into words.

Yes, she wanted to cry, and it was only a matter of time before she did so. But she had to hold off as long as she could.

*

Jon was more confident about his defense of the Wall than he was of Winterfell. He’d defended the Wall before, and Daenerys had never seen Castle Black. She didn’t know its weak spots. She didn’t know how to get into the tunnels where the weak would be hidden. And she wouldn’t know where Sansa was.

There were only a handful of Wildlings that had volunteered to stay, but Jon knew how they fought and where best to station them. And he knew what the Northerners were capable of. It hadn’t been like this before. When they fought the dead. Jon had hope this time that they could win. And he had a reason to live.

Two reasons, actually, now that he was about to become a father. Or even three if Gilly was right about it being twins. Gods help him then.

*

Gendry had the tendency to fall asleep as soon as he was finished. Arya nearly fell asleep, too. This was only the second time she’d fucked, but it was leagues beyond last time. Gendry didn’t seem so star-struck; he was the aggressor this time and he knew just what to do.

He showed her a strange spot within her. He told her how good it would feel when he touched it. And then he did touch it, and Arya knew she was being loud enough for the whole camp to hear but she didn’t care.

Green Louse was heartbroken, but he did his best to hide it. Gendry’s men asked him all sorts of questions about his life in Essos and his relationship with the queen.

“May I ask you something?” the oldest among them said. “Why is your name Green Louse? Lice are white. Believe me, I know.”

“There is already a soldier named White Louse when I am coming up. My name is made different from his. Two men have one name is confusing; soldiers make mistake. Soldiers cannot make mistake. Need different names.”

They left him alone after that so they could all go to sleep. The Unsullied remained awake.

*

Dany’s remaining troops would take a long time to mobilize, at least a day. That was too long for her.

The soldiers would come up in tiers, starting with the Dothraki, who ride cover a hundred miles in single day, and the best Unsullied warriors. The others would come forward as soon as they were ready.

Arya had a full day’s head start, and surely Bran knew she was coming. It was now or never, especially since Sansa’s time was so close.

Dany had no intention of harming the baby – or Sansa, for that matter. On the contrary, she loved the child, just as all children should be loved. There was nothing wrong with taking a child in as your own, especially if the child had ties to a rebellious region. It happened all the time.

Did the Starks not do the same thing when they took Theon Greyjoy as a ward?

Dany would be a surrogate mother to Sansa’s child. She’d be the same for other noble children. Lord Tully had a son, the last Martell had a daughter. She’d take children from the lesser houses in the Reach and the Vale. Maybe she would take in Yara’s or Gendry’s children one day.

They would all grow up together as a family, with Dany at the head, and she could appoint one of her children as her successor. She would teach them all to ride Drogon and to read and write and –

She lost her train of thought as she entered the Dragon Pit. Drogon was eating the last of the lame horses he had been given the night before. It was Tyrion’s idea to feed him wounded animals. Dany thought it was one of his best.

“We’re going North again,” she told Drogon, stroking his cheek. “We’re leaving right away.” Drogon gave a quiet snort in reply. “Things will be different from now on. once I deal with things here, I’ll send someone back to Essos to find more dragon eggs so you can have brothers and sisters then. I’m sure there are still some out there.

“And I will find children,” she continued. “And it will be the way we always wanted it to.”

*

Gendry woke around dawn to take a piss. It didn’t take long to realize that Arya and the Unsullied were gone.

Gendry’s small contingent of men was still sound asleep and completely unharmed. They still had their weapons, too. And the horses. But there was no sign of the Unsullied, not even specks of blood on the ground.

Gendry didn’t cry or scream or even complain. He just tried to go back to sleep.

*

Sansa and Jon said goodbye just as the women and children were being evacuated into the tunnels.

“Why are you trembling?” Jon asked. “Are you in pain?”

Sansa shook her head, forcing a smile onto her face. “I worry about you.”

“I’ll come home to you,” he said softly. He put his hand over her belly. It felt as though the child was dancing like a demon. “I’ll come back to you too.” He gave her a soft kiss and left the bedchamber. Ghost cried quietly.

“Your grace, it is time for us to go,” Brienne said.

“I can’t.” Sansa’s voice trembled with fear. Brienne understood why when she saw the wet patch on her dress. Her water had broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a while until the next chapter (but no more than two weeks). anyway thanks for reading sorry it's a mess


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say Im sorry the pregnancy timeline got all screwy. I was originally going to make the ending more similar to the show’s – she would’ve given birth earlier and the story would be over by now – but then I changed my mind at the last minute so here we are. Hope it’s not too shitty.

Gilly and Brienne guided Sansa onto the bed. she was weeping from fear and pain. there was a great commotion outside as people ran to their battle positions. Daenerys would be upon them in the hour.

“Gilly, you must leave,” Sansa managed. “Go to the tunnels. Your sons –”

“Are perfectly safe in my friends’ care,” Gilly said. “I won’t leave you, your grace. Not until your baby’s safe, too.”

Sansa started crying even harder. How could her baby ever be safe in a world like this, where a man would feed his newborn to his dogs? Ramsay wasn’t gone, not truly, and in that moment, Sansa feared for her daughter, what men like him would do to her.

_Please, please, let it be a boy. A little girl will only suffer. Don’t let him die. Don’t let the Targaryen take him away._

“No one is taking your child,” Brienne said strongly; Sansa hadn’t realized she said her prayer out loud. “You mustn’t allow yourself to be distracted. Your baby is coming. That’s all that matters.”

She couldn’t stop crying. She wanted Jon and Bran and Arya and the baby and her people to be safe. But more than anything she wanted Catelyn. She wanted her Mamma.

*

Arya was hyperaware of the items tucked into her jerkin – the ribbons, the hairpins, the doll. Gifts for Sansa and her baby.

Arya hoped she wouldn’t be too late to give them to her. She had to be there when the baby was born. She had to. She’d be the one to take Sansa and the child to safety if need be. She was a better fighter than Jon and twice as fast. And she had Green Louse with her, too. He wouldn’t be much help except as a distraction, but that was better than nothing.

“How far to the Wall?” Green Louse had to shout to be heard over the thundering of their horses’ hooves as they raced along.

“Two hours,” Arya replied. “Maybe more.” They’d likely have to go on foot for the last stretch; they’d stolen five horses when they left Gendry’s party, and they had to leave three behind one by one as they collapsed from exhaustion.

Green Louse assured her that marching took a long time, so the first wave of Unsullied were likely far behind them. But they were trained not to feel pain, and they were all fit; Arya thought they’d have no problem running at least part of the way north, especially if the first leg of the journey was by sea.

 

*

Jon based himself at the top of the wall so he could watch for Drogon. He had a good vantage point, too, for shooting a crossbow at the enemy. He wasn’t sure if he would take advantage of that though, since it was hard to discern friend from foe at this height.

He’d be more use down below with the others, he thought, but Daenerys would come for him. He’d be the one to distract her while Bran took control of Drogon.

“The smarter an animal is, the harder it is to warg into them,” Bran explained the day before while they were going over their plans. “Dragons are smart. Drogon will try to fight me.”

“We could try to distract him,” Sam said.

“How do you propose to distract a dragon without being killed?” Brienne said flatly.

Sam pouted for a moment. “I’ll think of something. I’ve always been good at distracting people, annoying them, pissing them off. That’s why my father sent me to the Wall – well, that and other things, but annoying him was certainly part of it.”

“I believe you,” Tormund said sincerely.

Sam smiled, ignoring the wildling’s implication. “Thank you, Tormund.” He turned to the others. “You see? I am good for _some_ things.”

Sansa addressed the lords and ladies now. “We will play to your people’s strengths in battle. Lady Karstark, half your men will be on the offensive . . .”

Sansa didn’t know much about war, but she certainly knew about people. Jon was thoroughly impressed with her suggestions of which warriors to post where.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to my rooms now,” she said. “Don’t hesitate to come to me if you need anything.” Jon guided her out of the room, grumbling all the while about the added weight from the baby.

The others slowly trickled out of the library. Brienne and Podric hung back to discuss their specific duties for the battle.

Bran called out to her just as she was leaving. “Brienne.”

She turned back to Bran at the sound of her name. “My lord?”

“He thought about you at the end. He was sorry for what happened.”

Brienne cleared her throat and fought back the tears that pricked her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Stark, for telling me.”

*

Davos had been in a fair few battles by now. His ritual had become to shit and curse for hours on end until it was time to take up his battle station.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, _fuck_!”

Blackwater, the Battle of the Bastards, that shit with the white walkers, and now this bullshit. Fuck Stannis for bringing him north.

Tormund was somewhere nearby; Davos could hear him singing some ridiculous song in one of those wildling languages.

Davos decided that if he survived this – both the aggressive anxiety-induced diarrhea and the battle against Daenerys – he’d get back on a boat and never get off.

*

Dany never saw snow before she met Jon. Ser Jorah described it to her more than once, but it’s a difficult thing to picture for one who has no point of reference.

She flew silently, peacefully, through the thick cloud bank. Each one was heavy with unshed snow and ice. Jon told her that winter would last for years and years. She hadn’t believed him at the time.

Everything was wrong now.

Even poor Drogon had changed. He ate less and slept more, and sometimes he didn’t even raise his head to greet his mother. Dany thought he was sick with grief for his brothers. Dany should be ill, too, should be writhing in pain each time she closed her eyes, but she wasn’t. She could hardly feel anything anymore.

She hoped motherhood, _real_ motherhood, would change that, but it was getting harder and harder to believe her own lies. But what else could she do? Where else could she go?

The Wall appeared in the distance.

*

One of the lookouts started shouting when he caught sight of Drogon; the others took up the call.

The soldiers hidden along the tree line stomped their feet and hit their shields until it created a deafening roar.

“ _Damn all banners black and red, we seek justice for our dead! Our great stags and wolves will tear apart your dragons!_ ”

The song carried into the castle on the wind.

Sansa sobbed rather than breathed. “They can’t be here. I’m not ready. It’s not safe.”

Brienne drew her sword and took up a defensive position by the door. Ghost padded back and forth across the floor, teeth already bared for an attack.

Sansa clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream that accompanied her contraction.

“Brienne, I need your sword belt,” Gilly said. She knew from helping her sisters give birth that she had to remain calm regardless of what happened. The others would be taking their cues from her, and if they saw even a hint of doubt, everything would fall apart. Sansa needed her to be strong.

Brienne raised an eyebrow but gave over her belt without question.

“You need to bite down on this when the pain comes. It’ll be hard not to scream, but I at least need you to try,” Gilly said, setting the belt in Sansa’s mouth. If Sansa screamed too loudly, the Unsullied would be on them in an instant. The baby would scream of course, but Gilly didn’t want to think about that until the time came. First she had to deliver the child.

*

Pod thought he would be more comfortable if Bran were staring at him. as it was, he sat against the Heart Tree with his eyes rolled back in his head. He was likely using birds to watch the army’s approach.

Drogon was eerily quiet, though they could see glimpses of his dark scales as he wove through the clouds above their heads. At least they knew Dany wouldn’t attack until her soldiers were with her. They still had time.

Davos’s reaction was, for whatever reason, the most comforting to the young knight because it seemed the most normal. “ _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me_ ,” he chanted to himself. He opened and closed his fists several times as though the action might spontaneously cause his fingers to grow back.

Pod was better trained and more experienced than half the knights at King Robert’s court were. That knowledge didn’t comfort him much.

His distress was hardly noticeable to the others.

*

_“Open the gate!”_

Arya screeched so loudly that her throat hurt. She could already taste blood in the back of her throat from running so hard. She could see and hear the Unsullied only a few miles behind her.

She saw, too, the archers hidden in high branches of the tree’ that lined the King’s Road. They wouldn’t shoot her, she knew, and if they did, she’d dodge it.

Green Louse was another matter entirely. They’d separated a few miles back after the last horse collapsed. She didn’t know what his plan was and neither did he. Maybe try to fall back in line with the ranks and pray no one recognized him as a deserter? They’d find out anyway once he started killing.

He didn’t want to hurt his friends, or any of the other nameless, faceless soldiers that Dany used and disposed like rags. He was after the officers, Grey Worm in particular. If he fell, the army would fall apart. The Unsullied were fine soldiers, aye, but only when they had a clear chain of command to look to.

The hoofbeats in the distance drew closer with every second.

“Open the gate!” she shouted again. The mechanisms creaked as the soldiers inside the castle opened the gate just enough for Arya to slip through.

The first arrow whistled past her ear and landed in the door. She was halfway inside when the second arrow caught her shoulder. It went straight through the muscle and into the door, pinning Arya against the wood.

The Dothraki archers screeched victoriously. There were seven of them mounted on their giant horses. The fact that they were riding at a full gallop didn’t affect their ability to shoot.

The shooter knocked another arrow.

*

Sam wasn’t a good archer by any stretch of the imagination. But he didn’t have to be good. He just had to be bothersome.

He skewers small chunks of spoiling meat with the arrows before he sent them flying. Hopefully the smell would distract Drogon. He had a number of backup plans in case it didn’t work, though each one was slightly worse than the one before it.

Drogon began to fly lower and lower as the Unsullied neared the castle. The Northerners’ singing and stomping grew louder and louder; the men inside the castle were singing too now.

Sam started mumbling along to the tune. He didn’t know the words, since was born after the Rebellion and his family had fought for the Targaryens. It was more about the noise than the message, he thought.

“ _And when our bloody war is done, sandy Dorne won’t have a sun, and those flower-lords down south will have salt-harvest_.”

Sam thought for a moment of Gilly and his sons. He always thought of his family when he was in danger. It didn’t calm him a bit, only made him more panicked. They needed him. He’d have to try very hard not to die. That’s what Little Sam had asked.

“Tell how you killed those proud rebels in the hills, you took their swords and sons and burnt their kingdoms.”

Sam took another deep breath and willed his hands to stop shaking. He let loose the bowstring.

The first arrow hit Drogon in the side of the head.

*

Three soldiers came out to help Arya. Two held up massive shields to defend from further attack while the third worked the arrow free of the door; he wouldn’t be able to take it from Arya’s shoulder until they were safely inside.

She screamed as the soldier tugged her off the door and dragged her inside. One of the defending soldiers slipped inside next, bet the other was too slow. A Dothraki arrow skewered him through the neck just as he was stepping inside. The first soldier kicked the body out of the way so the gates could fully close.

A small group of soldiers rushed forward and pinned Arya down while another snapped off the arrowhead and slipped the shaft free. She couldn’t bite back her howl of pain.

*

There was a horrible scream for the courtyard, a woman’s scream. Brienne turned to open the window to see what was happening. Ghost let out a howl of his own and clawed at the door. Brienne opened it just enough for the wolf to slip through before she slammed it shut, bolted it, and barricaded it with a chest.

Sansa was too lost in her own agony to fully comprehend why Ghost had left her alone.

*

Drogon roared in surprise and turned his massive head to the arrow’s source just as another one went shooting past him and nearly caught Daenerys in the arm. The stench made her retch but she hadn’t eaten in a long time, she couldn’t remember how long, so there was nothing for her to throw up. More arrows came and Drogon fell into a nosedive right over the shooter.

And then he violently stopped, like a man at the end of a noose. His wings were jittery, his nostrils flared. Dany couldn’t see that his eyes rolled back in his head and came out again at a dizzying speed.

And still the arrows kept coming.

“Drogon, steady” Dany cried fearfully. He started ticking as though he were about to have a seizure. She gripped him tighter. “Drogon!” He only reared back, seemingly attempting to buck something or someone off his back.

Another arrow came flying up and slashed her along the jaw; she moved her head in time to avoid being hit by the rat attached by the fletchings.

*

Tormund was the only one who wasn’t alarmed when Bran started foaming at the mouth. Pod, Davos, and the others rushed toward him; Tormund shoved them out of the way. He forced Bran’s jaw open and slipped the handle of a knife between his teeth to keep from biting himself.

“Give him space.” Tormund sounded more afraid than he wanted to. “He is fighting the dragon in his mind. The body suffers.” He knelt before Bran’s chair and put his hand on the boy’s knee. “Come on, Brandon. Your family needs you. Be a ginger.”

*

The soldiers could barely get out of the way in time. Ghost came charging through the throng to get to Arya. She was conscious, but just barely. “Ghost.” She blinked away the tears that came to her eyes. “Help me up,” she commanded the soldiers.

They did as they were told and slung her over the wolf’s back. She gripped his fur in her fist as he carried her back into the castle.

*

It felt like they were fighting the dead all over again. That’s what the men on the parapets thought as they watched the queen’s army break against the gates like water on rocks.  They formed a clod in front of the door and shoved in unison. It barely held.

The other Northern soldiers came running out of the forest, their battle cries deafening. They surrounded the Unsullied in a pincer move and easily cut down some of the distracted soldiers. Their victory was short-lived, however, when the hinges finally gave way and one of the massive doors fell backwards into the courtyard.

The Unsullied flooded the castle.

*

“Drogon!” Dany cried desperately. She was losing her grip on him. she tried to dig her feet in to gain traction but his scales were too slick from melting snow. “Drogon, please!”

The dragon reared again, further this time, until his belly faced the sky.

Dany screamed as she went tumbling down. This was it. this was how she would die.

The landed hard on top of the Wall. For a terrible moment, she couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t move, only watch Drogon war with himself.

She finally managed to rake in a breath and roll onto her side. She couldn’t tell if the roaring sound in her ears was from the battle raging below, Drogon, or the blood rushing through her ears.

She slowly pushed herself up, first into a seated position, and finally dragged herself onto her feet. She nearly fell again when her head rushed violently. But she was still standing.

Her vision was blurry. She had difficulty focusing on the black mass before her, could only make out its outline. It was a man, she finally realized. He held his sword in one hand, not the way one would hold it to either defend or attack. Just there.

It took her a long time to make out his features – the curly hair, the beard, the clenched jaw, the agonized look in his eyes.

She swallowed hard. “Jon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also apologize for the long break between posting chapters. I'm looking for a full time job (freelancing is bullshit) so I get distracted. Anyway, I really hope you guys are liking this! Stay tuned for more action next chapter . . .


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope you guys enjoy this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING – SUICIDE. Not dark or descriptive, but it is mentioned. Please do not read if you think this will upset you.

Jon was at war with himself. Everything he’d ever learned, which once seemed so straight-forward, now pulled him apart.

 _You must never harm a woman_ , Father said. But he also said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

And he’d sworn himself to her and no matter what she did it would be unimaginable for him to hurt her. Jaime Lannister killed a tyrant and a sadist and a murderer and what did he get for it instead of thanks? A lifetime of ridicule and hatred and distrust.

Not to mention that they were related. Kin-slaying was one of the worst things a man could do. But Jon didn’t want any part of the Targaryen life or name. None of it. Surely the Northerners wouldn’t be offended if he rid them of their most dangerous enemy, an enemy whose name and culture he abjured.

He laid awake some nights, especially at Dragonstone, and wondered what things would be like if the other Targaryens had survived, particularly Rhaegar’s other children, Rhaenys and Aegon. Jon’s brother and sister.

He was sure he would love them – they were his siblings, after all. And they’d all be loyal to Daenerys, too. But they were just an idea now, just a pair of names attached to a gruesome tale. He was angry that they died in such a terrible way because of their selfish father, but he didn’t mourn them. Jon couldn’t love something that didn’t exist, except perhaps his mother.

But he was angry at her, too. He didn’t ask Bran certain things about her because he was afraid of the answers. Did she plan to be Rhaegar’s queen? Was she pleased when his trueborn children died, leaving her son as heir to the throne? Did she regret all the terrible things that happened? Had she ever intended for any of it to happen?

Sansa and the baby and Arya and Bran were real. _They_ were his family. They were what mattered now.

Drogon’s cry interrupted Jon’s stream of thought. Puny arrows still flew in his direction – no doubt Sam’s attempt at distraction – but he seemed not to notice them. He writhed in pain, suspended in midair.

“Drogon,” Dany whimpered. She turned back to Jon, fear evident on her face. It wasn’t fear for herself though, but for her only remaining child. “What’s happening to him?”

A small unkindness of ravens erupted from the forest near the Heart Tree like sparks flying from a blacksmith’s hammer. They flew toward the dragon and started clawing at his eyes.

“Please, Jon!” Daenerys said. “Don’t let them hurt him! He doesn’t deserve it. Whatever I’ve done isn’t his fault!”

Jon remained stone-faced and still. He wouldn’t speak right now even if he could.

*

Brienne looked through a crack in the window. She watched the gates fall and the courtyard flood with Unsullied. She wasn’t much of an archer, but she pulled out her bow and knocked her arrow.

The other Northerners hidden in windows and standing along the parapets did the same thing. They rained down a full volley of arrows from every direction. As many landed in the ground as in the soldiers.

She whipped around when she heard rumbling outside the door. Someone was there.

Sansa and Gilly looked to her for guidance. The pleading in Sansa’s eyes nearly tore her apart. The grumbling came again, this time with a distinct whimper. Ghost.

Brienne hurried to move the chest aside and unlatch the door. Ghost came bounding in with Arya laid across his back. Brienne barricaded the door again, adding a few heavy chairs to the pile this time. The Unsullied would soon be inside the castle if they weren’t already.

“Arya!” Sansa would’ve wept with joy but she was crying already. Ghost guided Arya onto the bed beside her sister. His fur was stained with her blood.

Arya was too weak to sit up at the moment but she entwined her fingers with Sansa’s. “I told you I’d be here,” she said.

Gilly rushed over and bound Arya’s wounds during the short break between Sansa’s contractions. She packed it with what appeared to just be dirt and leaves to staunch the bleeding. Gilly was grateful for Arya’s presence. Sansa needed someone she knew and loved to help her through this ordeal.

Arya released Sansa’s hand to pull Catelyn’s things from their hiding place. “I found these in Mother’s room at Riverrun. I brought them back so she could be with you.”

Arya braided her sister’s hair back, ignoring the screaming pain in her shoulder, and secured it with one of the lovely ribbons. She put the doll on the pillow beside Sansa’s head and tied two more ribbons around her wrists.

The act completely drained her of her strength. She lay back on the bed and tried to keep her expression under control. The last thing Sansa needed was to worry about Arya.

“Arya,” Sansa whispered. There was the slightest smile on her face as she put her hand on her sister’s cheek.

“There’s enough for my niece, too. But first you’ve got to get her out.”

Sansa nodded her head as best she could. “There’s another pain coming. I can feel it. I–”

She managed to get the belt back in Sansa’s mouth to muffle the sound of her scream.

*

The Unsullied gave up on stealth and surprise. They burst through the doors and windows of the castle, shouting to each other in Valyrian.

Brodick was still locked in the pantry when they came in. He pushed his face against a crack in the doorway and watched helplessly as the soldiers poured in.

He should be out there with his brothers-at-arms! He should be protecting his home and his queen!

He heard a commander barking orders at two of his men in Common.  “Find Sansa and baby for queen!”

He’d know that voice anywhere. All Northerners would. Grey Worm.

Brodick stepped away from the door and breathed deep.

He could imitate anyone – southerners, Dornish, foreigners, dozens of birds. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever tried to imitate an infant but he’d be damned if he didn’t try.

It seemed he was convincing.

The Unsullied started shouting at each other in Valyrian. One of them started kicking at the door. Brodick bent his knees in preparation and took deep breaths, inhaling through his nose and out of his mouth the way the master-at-arms of Bear Island taught him.

_“Your body needs air when you fight,” he said. “But you can’t lose control of your breathing. You lose that, you’ll lose the battle.”_

The Unsullied kept kicking at the door until it finally gave way.

*

Bran could still think. He was aware of the fact that his body was seizing, of the people around his body. He was aware of Drogon’s body, too. He inhabited both.

Most animals didn’t have a great range of emotion, but Drogon was no normal animal. He felt true terror. In the moments when he was able to wrest control from Bran, he dashed toward his mother. She was crying. She was calling for him. he had to protect her. His brothers were all dead. She was all he had. And he was the same for her.

*

“Please, Jon, he’s my child!” Daenerys begged. Jon thought she looked half-dead. She was gaunt, eyes wild, blood rushing from her jaw onto her hair and clothing. “Call them off. Whatever they’re doing, please, just call them off.” He didn’t reply. “If it was your own child that –”

He raised his sword and pointed the tip at her throat; he was too far away to strike her. “ _Don’t you dare talk about my child_!” His words dripped with venom and rage.

“I don’t want to hurt you or Sansa, and I certainly don’t want anything to happen to the baby,” Daenerys barked. “I love it.”

Jon was confused enough to lower his sword a bit. “What?”

*

The first Unsullied stood in the doorway, catching his breath. He didn’t even have time to blink before Brodick came tumbling toward him. his right shoulder hit the Unsullied hard enough to knock the wind out of him as they collapsed back onto the floor. Brodick used the chain between his shackles to start strangling him.

Grey Worm came up behind Brodick and locked his head between his arms. He squeezed until the Northerner went limp. Just as Grey Worm let the unconscious soldier slide to the floor, Brodick smashed the back of his head against Grey Worm’s nose. He fell back into the pantry. Playing dead is always a good trick, Brodick thought.

The first soldier was still struggling to stand. Brodick wrapped the chain around his neck from behind and started to pull. The second soldier had a knife in his had and was ready to throw it, but Brodick used the first warrior like a shield.

He pulled harder and harder on the chain until the first soldier lost consciousness. Brodick snapped his neck for good measure.

Grey Worm and the other warrior descended upon him, their weapons drawn. There was a knife in his thigh and in his side. Grey Worm was on top of him, pinning him down. He was closing his hands around Brodick’s neck when another Unsullied kicked Grey Worm in the face, sending him flying backward.

The Unsullied quickly introduced himself as Green Louse before the nameless warrior charged at him to protect his commander, who lay bleeding on the ground.

Green Louse caught him easily and stabbed him in the lower jaw and thrusted upwards. The warrior gripped Green Louse’s shoulders as he slowly lost consciousness.

They were preparing to attack Grey Worm again when they heard a woman screaming in agony somewhere upstairs. The three fought as they ran toward the sound.

*

“I love you, Jon,” Daenerys said. “And I love your child. I don’t want to hurt it; I want to look after it.”

“I’m not in the mood for riddles,” Jon snapped.

“Jon Arryn raised your father, and your father in turn raised Theon Greyjoy. They had good childhoods. Jon, I want to raise your child as they raised others’ children.”

Jon was speechless.

*

The belt was still between Sansa’s teeth and Arya’s hand was clamped over her mouth but her scream was still audible.

Something was wrong.

Gilly had declared only moments earlier that she could see the child, that it was almost there. She didn’t realize that it was a foot and not the head but a foot. The child was coming out the wrong way.

Sansa and Arya both noticed the look over dread that came over Gilly. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Sansa managed.

“It’s coming out feet-first,” Gilly said in the most neutral tone she could manage. She’d have to try to pull the baby out without damaging its limbs or causing Sansa to tear, which had happened to several of her sisters. “Sansa, try to stop pushing.”

Sansa tried to relax her rigid muscles and fight off the next contraction. She was too far into labor, though, and her body contracted with or without her permission. “Please, you have to get him out. He’ll tear me apart; I can feel it.”

“No, she won’t,” Arya said strongly.

 

*

Jon finally found his voice. He used it to recite the words he once heard too often.

“By the authority of Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, I arrest you. We’ll go down to the courtyard and you will tell your men to surrender.”

Dany smiled, tears in her eyes. “You think me mad, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

She sighed and looked out at the sea of snow beyond the Wall. “I understand why you and Sansa were so set on taking back Winterfell. It’s your home. Westeros was meant to be my home and I wanted to take it back, too. But you can’t take back something that was never yours.” She smiled to herself. “I sound quite like Tyrion, don’t I?”

“We will go down to the courtyard and you will tell you men to surrender,” Jon said again.

“And then what? You’ll put me on trial?”

“We’ll let Drogon go.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I give you my word that we will.”

Daenerys shook her head. “If I were in Sansa’s position, I would have you kill him.”

“You’re not in her position. And you’re not Sansa.”

“She never struck me as the type to show mercy. I don’t think I can trust her word or yours.”

“What other choice do you have?”

*

“I’m losing him,” Bran said, or tried to say. It came out as a choking sound.

“Bran?” Davos said.

And then he was thrust violently from the beast’s mind. He pitched forward in his chair as he gasped for breath; Davos caught him before he could fall.

“They’re coming,” Bran managed.

“The Unsullied? I don’t think they’ve figured it out yet.”

“My nieces.”

*

“All right, Sansa, I need you to shift onto your side if you can,” Gilly said. “I’m going to get your baby out but I have to twist her. You need to stay still.”

Brienne helped roll Sansa onto her side. “You’re nearly there,” she assured her mistress.

Sansa managed to nod. She shut her eyes against the pain. She was too tired to scream. All she could do was whimper.

The pain was worse at first, much worse, as Gilly reached inside her and began to pull. But still she could not find the energy to scream.

Brienne drew her sword and stood in front of the door when she heard the warriors approaching. Two Unsullied seemed to be shouting at each other in Valyrian. Brienne didn’t think they knew where to go, which room to investigate first. They just had to stay quiet and they wouldn’t find them.

An infant’s scream shattered the silence.

*

Grey Worm lunged toward the top of the steps. Green Louse caught him by the ankle and pulled him to the ground. He hit his chin when he fell and knocked out two of his teeth.

Grey Worm returned the favor by pulling him down, too. Brodick leapt over their bodies. He was still shackled and had no weapon. He grabbed a wooden stool from against the wall and took up a defensive position in front of the Lord Commander’s door. He heard a baby cry.

*

Daenerys turned her head to look beyond the Wall. It really was beautiful. Drogon had stopped writhing and landed in a great patch of snow. He curled in on himself, whimpering.

“You’ll really let him go?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Technically he hadn’t. he never said that he loved her, and he believed his words when he swore to follow her. The rest came after.

*

Sansa barely had time to look at the screaming baby in Gilly’s arms before the pain started again. She was too surprised to stifle her scream.

Arya shot out of the bed and moved to Gilly’s side. “What’s happening?!”

“Hold her.” Gilly managed to keep her voice even as she set the screaming little girl in Arya’s arms.

“What’s happening?!” Arya demanded again.

“Sansa, stop pushing.”

“I can’t!” She sobbed and reached an arm out towards her baby. “Let me see it. I –” Another scream accompanied a contraction.

“Gilly!” Arya snapped.

“You have to stop pushing!” She would bleed out if she didn’t.

Sansa screamed again. This time it was loud enough for the whole castle to hear.

*

The Unsullied were throwing each other back and forth across the hall. Grey Worm got a hold of Green Louse’s neck and smacked his head against the wall once, twice, three times before turning to face Brodick.

Green Louse stumbled forward toward Grey Worm. He could hardly see anything and he couldn’t quite remember why he was fighting. He just knew that he had to keep going.

Brodick broke the stool across Grey Worm’s back. He screamed and fell to the floor. Brodick let loose a battle cry as he took what was left of the stool and slammed it against Grey Worm’s head over and over and over and over until he made a deep dent in the skull.

*

“I see!” Gilly shouted. “I see! There’s another. There’s a second baby!”

“Get it out!” Sansa shouted.

This one at least had the decency to come out the right way. Gilly caught the baby in her arms and looked up to tell Sansa that she had two healthy daughters but Sansa’s eyes were shut and her breathing was shallow.

Brienne put her hand on her should. “Your grace. Your grace. Your children need you now, you can rest later. Your grace!”

Sansa did not move.

*

“Everyone I’ve ever spoken to has said you’re a good man. Even Ser Jorah – he didn’t really know you, but he knew your father and admired him greatly. He said you look like him,” Dany said.

“Let’s go down now,” Jon said.

Daenerys did not move. “For whatever it’s worth, I really did love you. I understand why you can’t feel the same way.” Her eyes were glassy with tears though so smiled. “I hope you and Sansa are happy. I hope your child is healthy and strong. You deserve a beautiful life, Jon.”

“Dany, let’s go down to the courtyard.” He extended his hand to her but she didn’t notice. That worried him.

She was still looking at Drogon. He was shaking terribly. “You will let him go?”

“On my honor.”

“And what will I do? Be stripped of my throne and dignity? Have your baby sister cut my throat?”

“I don’t know.”

Daenerys nodded and began to take the pins out of her hair. That horrible soreness started leaving her head right away. “That’s not how I intended to go. I always dreamed I’d die in bed surrounded by family.”

Jon stepped forward cautiously. “Dany –”

She gave him one last smile. “I wish I could’ve made you happy. I wish I could’ve made

She leaned back, arms out, and tipped backwards off of the Wall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve come up with a bunch of other Jonsa stories (and possibly some Jon/Ygritte stuff) that I’ll probably start posting when this is over. One of the ideas is for an alternate ending to this story (the one I was originally planning to do which was closer to the show).


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Really hope this isn’t anticlimactic/you’re satisfied with it! It’s not my best but it is what it is. We’re almost at the end :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so glad Dany’s death had such an impact on you guys! I’ve never liked her (she just like hangs out and does nothing for five seasons and talks about her dragons) BUT I think that one of the many problems with the finale/last season is they gave up on humanizing her. If they wanted us to be sad about her dying they probably should’ve tried harder. They should’ve tried harder in general.   
> I am still salty.

Drogon’s cry what gut-wrenching. He sounded like a child. He’d just seen his mother die but he couldn’t move from where he was curled up, could only whimper and cry.

Sam had watched the beast struggle against Bran. He saw Jon and Dany talking at least a mile down the way from him. He’d turned to look at the dragon and when he looked back, Jon stood alone near the edge.

He ran screaming to his friend’s side, afraid that he might tumble over the side. “Jon!”

Jon turned his head to look at his friend. “She went over.”

“I know.”

“She just went over,” he said again.

“I know,” Sam repeated. “Let’s go find Sansa, yeah? We can worry about this later.”

*

Gilly slipped the first hollow needle into Brodick’s arm and a second into Sansa’s. She stirred at the pain but didn’t open her eyes.

Maester Aemon kept a transference machine in his old rooms which Gilly was attempting to use on Sansa. It was Green Louse’s idea, and he was very pleased with himself for being helpful.

The babies wriggled and screamed despite Ghost, Brienne, and Arya’s best efforts to calm them. The redhead whacked Ghost on the nose when he nuzzled her, and the brunette tugged at Arya’s hair so hard she nearly ripped it out. She did not like Brienne presumably because her hair was too short for her to grab.

Gilly started pumping the machine. Arya was angry she couldn’t be the one to help Sansa, as she’d lost too much of her own blood to donate to Sansa.

The room was silent except for the angry babies. Brodick had gone pale; he was giving too much blood. Sansa awoke just before he lost consciousness.

“Sansa!” Arya cried, lunging toward her sister.

Sansa couldn’t move much. Arya pushed her back down when she tried to sit up. “Where’s my baby?”

“Your daughters are healthy,” Gilly said.

“Daughters?”

Gilly nodded, joyful tears in her eyes. She lifted the redheaded baby from her place by Ghost and set her in Sansa’s arms. The queen burst into tears as she kissed the child on the head. She was so beautiful and small and perfect and _hers_. They looked just alike.

Arya, trying desperately to hold in her own tears, took the redhead so Sansa could hold the brunette. She cried more and kissed her, too. This one looked like Jon, like the father who would love and look after her until the end of his days.

“Give her to me,” she said to Arya, gesturing towards the redhead. “I want them both.”

Sansa was lost in a haze of joy as she looked down at her children. She hardly noticed Gilly’s attempt to change the sheets, but Arya helped her along. She wept even harder when Arya produced two more of Catelyn’s ribbons for Sansa, who tied them in bows around her babies’ wrists.

“Catelyn,” Sansa managed through her hiccups. “I want to call her Catelyn. After Mother. She looks just like her.”

Silent tears slipped from Arya’s eyes. She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “It’s a good name. What will you call the other one?”

The answer was automatic. Sansa was set on calling her daughter by it almost since she realized she was carrying. “Lyanna.”

*

The Unsullied surrendered. They were losing the battle when a Northern soldier tossed Grey Worm’s limp body into the courtyard. They didn’t know where Drogon or their queen were. They had no one to look to for guidance.

The Northern soldiers gathered up their weapons and left the Unsullied in the courtyard. They weren’t going anywhere.

The soldiers bowed their heads in respect when Jon leapt out of the lift and raced across the yard toward Sansa’s room. He nearly broke his ankle when he heard a baby scream. He somehow quickened his pace. He couldn’t draw breath. He wanted to call for Sansa, to let her know he was coming home to her like he promised, but it was barely more than air moving past his lips.

He burst through the door. He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He couldn’t run anymore but damn if he didn’t walk as fast as his legs could carry him.

The door to the room was slightly opened. Someone was coming out.

“Jon!” Gilly said brightly.

He didn’t notice her inflection, only that she carried bloody sheets and clothing in her hands. Sansa’s clothing. He didn’t notice that Brodick and Davos were waiting in the hall.

He stormed into the room shouting for his woman.

Sansa was on the outside of the bed facing away from the door. Arya, fast asleep, lay on the floor beneath the window. She wouldn’t be sleeping if Sansa was hurt. But what if the baby was hurt? Had it even survived the birth? Maybe he hallucinated the little wail he’d heard. He couldn’t hear any crying or cooing, only Arya’s snoring. _She wouldn’t be sleeping if Sansa was hurt_ , he thought again.

Ghost lay across the bed from Sansa. His head rested beside what looked like a bunched-up blanket.

“Sansa?” Jon couldn’t recognize his own voice as he walked around to the foot of the bed.

And then a baby cooed. Jon’s heart stopped when he saw it at the center of the bed, a little face and head peeking out from the cocoon of blankets. It looked just like Sansa. Wisps of straight red hair crisscrossed its scalp. Its eyes were so intensely blue that they bordered on violet.

“Is that . . .?”

Sansa smiled up at Jon. She was terribly pale, but the clothes and bedding weren’t bloody; Gilly must’ve changed them and helped Sansa bathe. That’s why she was carrying those things, he assured himself. She just changed the bedding to make Sansa more comfortable.

Sansa shifted onto her back, revealing a second baby cradled in her arms.

This one had dark hair in loose coils, like Jon’s. It was nestled against Sansa’s chest, a tiny fist locked in a death grip on Sansa’s hair as it nursed.

“I already named them,” Sansa whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Jon kept looking back and forth between the two infants. They were nearly identical, save for their hair.  They had pink cheeks and fat limbs and Jon couldn’t swallow the lump in his throat. They were as beautiful as their mother and they were healthy and safe and they were _his_.

Sansa smiled. She didn’t even know if Jon had heard her, but she went ahead and said their names anyway. “Lyanna and Catelyn, after our mothers. They look just like them, don’t you think? Catelyn is a perfect copy of Mother, and Lyanna looks how I imagine your mother to be.”

Jon’s eyes were full when he finally looked up at Sansa. “Lyanna and Catelyn,” he repeated. His voice was half-muted by the lump in his throat. He started to crawl onto the bed. He got off when he realized he was still wearing his boots and vambraces and gloves and hurried to shed the hateful things.

His daughters shouldn’t be near things associated with battle, with violence and sadness and cruelty. They must never feel or see such things, must never know of their existence. He understood now why Ned never cursed in front of his girls, never spoke to them about the harsh realities of the world beyond Winterfell’s gates. He wanted to keep them separate from it. He wanted to protect them.

The babies were pure and perfect and so heartbreakingly lovely and Jon would never let them out of his sight for as long as he lived.

He shed his armor as quietly as possible and climbed back onto the bed. He continued to examine the babies from afar. Lyanna – that sweet, small thing, so unbelievably lovely, so safe and warm in her mother’s arms – was still nursing and tugging on Sansa’s hair; Jon noticed there was a small blue ribbon tied in a bow around her fat little wrist. The other baby – Catelyn, his other beautiful little daughter who wriggled around in her blanket – was swaddled tight, but Jon bet she wore a ribbon, too.

“Can I hold them?” his voice was quiet and scratchy.

Sansa smiled. “Lyanna won’t let go of my hair, but you can try your luck with Catelyn.”

He felt as big and clumsy as a bear as he slid his hands under the little girl’s head and back and lifted her to his chest. She was so small and so fragile. Were babies meant to be so little?

The baby – Catelyn – made a noise of discontent and blinked her eyes open. He’d never seen eyes like that, so blue and bright and enchanting, even bluer than Sansa’s. Jon was too entranced to notice that those breathtaking eyes were set in a glare. This ogre of a man had the audacity to interrupt a very important nap and Catelyn was rightfully displeased.

Jon lost the battle against his tears then. They started pouring out, clearing away streaks of blood and dirt on his cheeks.

He pressed the gentlest kiss to Catelyn’s head. She did not like it and let him know by screaming her frustration straight into his face. Jon could only laugh. She might be small but she at least had good lungs.

Jon took Lyanna so Sansa could feed Catelyn. It took a moment or two to unwind the baby’s fist from her mother’s hair. Lyanna fussed for a moment, angry and afraid of the sudden separation from her mother. But she took one look at Jon, yanked a fistful of his hair to her with surprising force, and drifted off to sleep.

Her eyes were the same mesmerizing shade as her sister’s. Jon resisted the urge to wake her so he could see them again. “Their eyes,” he said softly, still gazing down at the miracle in his hands. “They’re beautiful, Sansa. I can’t . . .” he shook his head.

Jon wanted to haul her against him and lock her in his arms but he didn’t want to disturb the babies.

Jon shifted to the head of the bed once Catelyn was sated. Sansa sat is his lap, leaning back against his chest as they watched their daughters sleep. _Their daughters_.

If he were more articulate, he would thank Sansa for everything. After he died, he had no reason to live. But Sansa came back into his life and gave him a reason to keep fighting. She loved him despite everything that had happened, everything they’d been through.

And he wanted to thank her for giving him a family again. She was the one to bring Arya back into the fold and they were all closer than ever. She was the one who resurrected the Stark name.

And the children, the children he thought he would never have for fear of his own shortcomings – Sansa gave him a pair of miracles from her own beautiful body. He would never be able to thank her for that.

He could only promise to be the best man that he could for his family. Sansa assured him that was more than enough.

*

Sam was angry with Gilly for putting herself in danger while proud of her for bravely delivering the queen’s children despite all the danger around her. He worked himself into a tizzy trying to work out what to say. Gilly put her hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

“We’re all safe. That’s what matters.” She dropped her hand and her husband nodded.

Sammy was eager to recount his adventures in the tunnels when his parents found him. Little Jon just wanted to eat. Gilly wanted to rest. Sam wanted to squeeze the air out of all three of them.

*

Drogon was gone before they could figure out what to do with him. He was still crying and weak when he lifted Dany in his claws.

The women and children were just coming out of the tunnels when they heard the sound. Many of them broke into tears at the gut-wrenching cry.

The Unsullied wept like babes as Drogon passed over them. They had surrendered by then, but the sight of their queen’s mangled body, even from a distance, was more than they could bear. She had freed them and asked only that they help her free the people across the Narrow Sea from a different sort of slavery.

Green Louse didn’t know what he would do. The Queen in the North would likely send the Unsullied back to Essos, defeated and humiliated. But he couldn’t go with them, could he?

Westeros was no place for him, either. He wanted to stay with Arya, but he knew she didn’t care for him the way he cared for her.

*

Sansa tried to rest and regain her strength in the following days but it was easier said than done.

Sansa was understandably protective of her newborns. She needed both infants nearby at all times so she could see for herself that they were safe and sound. Jon was the only man allowed to touch the children at first, but she soon added Sam and Davos to the list. Bran was recovering from his own ordeal of fighting Drogon and could not visit with his nieces.

In her mind, Sansa knew that they were all safe. That Daenerys couldn’t steal her babies away from her, that Ramsay couldn’t feed her little girls to his hounds. Her heart had trouble understanding that, though.

Jon and Ghost took turns sleeping; one was awake at all times in case his girls needed him.

They nearly had to drag Arya from the room and tie her to her bed to make her rest. She was happy to ignore her wound in favor of being with her nieces, but the pain finally won out. She slept for a day and a half.

*

Davos felt like an ass. He only saw one blue wolf in the fire so carved one wolf for Jon’s child. He never considered the possibility of a second.

Sansa assured him that it was quite all right: Catelyn could have Davos’s wolf and Lyanna could have Robb’s stuffed animal.

The blue made perfect sense once he saw the princesses’ eyes. He would’ve stared at them all day if the babies didn’t despise him so much. Lyanna was angry that he didn’t have long hair or a big beard for her to tug, though she tried to make do with the facial hair that he had.  Catelyn didn’t like anyone, it seemed, except her mother and sometimes Arya and Jon – and her twin sister, of course. She had a tendency to vomit on strange men, even poor Tormund, who won Lyanna’s affections with his great bushy beard.

*

It was four days before Bran felt well enough to leave his bed. He had a vision of all the great houses gathering in the capital to decided the issue of succession to the Iron Throne.

Sansa wanted to go, of course, but knew better than to bring it up. Jon got upset at the idea of leaving his family even for a moment.

Arya and Bran were to be sent as envoys.

“What exactly do you want us to say?” asked Arya.

“That the North is a free and independent kingdom. Tell them that I rule with my husband and consort by my side.” Jon’s head snapped toward Sansa. “Upon my death, I will be succeeded by whichever of my children is deemed the most fit to rule, regardless of whether it is a boy or a girl.”

Arya smiled widely and made a show of bowing. “Your grace.”

Jon waited until everyone was gone to address Sansa. “Your husband and consort?”

Sansa swallowed. “Yes, but I don’t want to call you my husband and I don’t want a full ceremony before the gods. I just want you beside me.”

Jon kissed her forehead. “I won’t call you _wife_ ,” he said, for he understood now that the word sounded hateful to her. She had every right to fear and despise such a title. “You are my queen and I am your . . . consort.”

It sounded like an odd title to him. It usually referred to women, the wives of kings. They did not rule in their own right, though they were treated as such. And it meant he and Sansa were connected. And that was all he really wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there will be like two/three more chapters after this. I’m not sure if I’ll do the alternate ending I was talking about, and I have to sort the plot out before I write my next long story (I'm considering an alt season 6/7), but I have a couple of one-shots planned – including a dark smutty Halloween AU!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second-to-last chapterrrrr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while, I’ve had a motherfucker of a week. Don’t know if this is any good but it is what it is.   
> I

Brienne, Arya, and Bran left for King’s Landing one month later.

The capital was in quite a state. Dany had left a few hundred Unsullied behind to keep order while she fought in the North. They had no idea what they were meant to do now. Some fled, presumably back to Essos, while others steeped themselves in the Red Keep. They would hold the fortress as their queen bade them to.

Tyrion was still a prisoner in one of the pantries. The Unsullied had no idea what to do with him, but they felt it was better to keep him there than let him loose. He was also the de facto representative of the Westerlands during this council.

The other representatives included Yara Greyjoy, Gendry Baratheon, Lord Royce and his entourage, Edmure Tully, and a handful of representatives from the noble houses of the Reach.

The Red Keep was all but unlivable, and the Unsullied occupied the few chambers left. Gendry and his followers chose to stay in the area where he grew up. Flea Bottom, strangely enough, was the most intact area of the city.

Being home made Gendry steadier. Gods help him, he didn’t want to be a lord. Storm’s End was empty and dark and cold. At least there were people in King’s Landing. At least there was light.

He didn’t want to see Arya, to be reminded of all his failings.

*

Jon refused to live his family alone for more than an hour.

Sansa was having quite a time recuperating. Wolkin, who had mistakenly be locked in the tunnels during the battle, insisted that she remain on bed rest for at least a month. She agreed to rest – in a spare wheelchair of Bran’s. she bullied friends and servants into pushing her around so she could attend to important matters.

The most pressing issue was rebuilding cottages that were destroyed by violent storms.

The other most pressing issue was the babies. The were good-tempered things for the most part, Lyanna especially.

She was happy so long as she was snuggled up against someone’s chest with a clump of their hair in her fist. She only got truly upset when people tried to put her down or she was separated from Catelyn for too long.

Catelyn was fussier. She liked only a few people, and she wasn’t shy about letting them know. Jon was especially proud of her for screaming at and vomiting on strange men.

*

Bran had never been to King’s Landing but he knew what it looked like because of the Greensight. Brienne and Davos had been there, too, but they hadn’t seen the destruction Dany and her armies had wrought. They were curious, but they didn’t ask. They’d see soon enough.

Davos’s mind was on other matters, anyway. He didn’t know what his next move would be. Maybe he would go back north, or maybe stay in King’s Landing, or move back to his home at Dragonstone, or maybe he would take a ship leave this damn country for good. He didn’t know. It made his head ache the more he thought about it.

Bran had solidified his own plans long ago. His family would understand why he had to leave them. He’d be more useful elsewhere.

Arya knew her path: She would return to Winterfell and remain there until Sansa’s children were old enough to walk and run and speak, and then she would go exploring. She didn’t mind waiting: She wanted to be with her family now. She wouldn’t leave until she knew they’d truly be safe.

Sansa gave Brienne leave to visit Tarth and her aged father. She also gave Brienne permission to care for and lead her people when she eventually inherited the island. Brienne hoped that was a long way off.

*

Rosalyn was near hysterics when Edmure was summoned to the capital. She was pregnant again. Edmure hadn’t been with her when she was carrying their son, so he wasn’t prepared for the violent storms of emotion that overtook her.

The pair weren’t in love exactly, but they got along well and relied on each other a great deal. Rosalyn knew her husband wasn’t in any danger; she was upset that he was leaving her alone when she was in such a delicate state.

*

Robyn Arryn had been passed from house to house over the past year or two. He was more ordinary now, less like the child his mother molded. He was still spoilt, though.

Lord Royce was the _ipso facto_ Lord of the Vale while Robyn became a man. Robyn didn’t even think Royce would bring him along, but he did.

Robyn didn’t want to go back to King’s Landing. He was still young when his father died and he fled with his mother to the Eyrie, but he remembered the capital. He remembered, when he first returned to his father’s holding, that it was grander than the Red Keep.

He heard stories of the moon door growing up. He was excited to see it at work upon his return. But nobody was thrown through it, at least not at first, and when they were, he thought it was the most exciting thing in the world.

He saw very little of the real world while his mother was alive, even and perhaps especially when they lived in King’s Landing. He hated to admit it, but Littlefinger was smart to send him away. He understood more now. He saw men die for their sins. He didn’t think it was exciting anymore.

*

Sam had no idea what he would do. He made up his mind to come along to King’s Landing at the last moment and immediately regretted leaving Gilly and the boys behind. They’d constantly been together from the moment they met. He promised not to leave her behind. It felt like he’d severed a limb with a butter knife.

*

It was two days before the council convened at the Dragon Pit. It was a somber affair.

The Northerners explained about Dany’s attack and her death. A number of representatives were relieved to hear of her demise.

The topic quickly turned to more important matters: Determining a new king. Gendry and Tyrion bore the blood of Westeros’s former rulers and were the first to be considered. Gendry was quickly eliminated as a candidate.

Tyrion expected there to be a much longer debate over his fitness as a ruler. Most were silent during the debate, which the others took for agreement. The Reach and the Riverlands were the only ones who protested.

Edmure nearly called him an imp near a dozen times but somehow held back. He was still quite offensive, though.

The Reach were furious at the notion. His sister murdered their heirs, and his former mistress ended a noble house by roasting them alive.

Sam quickly came to his defense. “Lord Tyrion asked her not to do it. Many die during conquests. I wish my father had gone a different way, but I understand why he was executed.”

“And your brother? Did it inconvenience you at all when he was burnt to death in front of your House’s loyal followers?”

Sam got properly angry then. It had only happened a precious few times in his life. Those who new him, including the Starks and Reach lords, were shocked to see it.

“My brother was a fine man and would have been a fine ruler. He always kept his words. He never mistreated me. He even tried to soften my father to me. he was loyal.”

“It was his loyalty that killed him,” Tyrion said, then immediately regretted the way he’d phrased it. “He refused to betray his father and chose to die with him instead. He was a fine man. I regret his death every day of my life.”

“That still doesn’t mean you’d be a good ruler,” Edmure piped.

“I agree with you,” Tyrion said. He sounded surprisingly chipper. “I have no interest in ruling the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Then who do you suggest take the throne?” Gendry asked.

Tyrion smiled at his cleverness. “I nominate Bran the Broken of House Stark, the wisest of any man in Westeros.”

“Don’t call him that,” Arya said.

“I don’t want to be king,” Bran said at the same time. “I told you I couldn’t be Lord of Winterfell. I can’t be Lord of Seven Kingdoms. There aren’t even seven of them anymore. The North is an independent state now under the rule of my sister.”

“Sansa?”  Edmure repeated. It sounded like he had trouble understanding how a woman could rule a whole kingdom. He had trouble understanding a number of things.

Brienne straightened up at the insult to her mistress. “Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North. Jon Snow sits by her side, and their daughters –”

Lord Royce nearly keeled over. “ _Their_ daughters?” Sansa didn’t seem the sort to sleep with her brother. Did they belong to another man?

“Enough,” Bran said. “There will be time enough to discuss Jon’s parentage later. We have more important matters to consider.”

“The Iron Islands also declare their independence,” Yara said, rising to her feet. “Daenerys Stormborn is dead. I’ll bend my knee to no other.”

“Dorne’s split off, too, I suppose?” Robin Arryn asked that question. Arya had quite nearly forgotten her cousin was still alive. They hadn’t sent an envoy, and they never quite fit with the rest of their country.

“Aye.”

“How many kingdoms is that now? Four?”

“More importantly, who will rule those remaining?”

“No one,” Edmure said before he could stop himself. He was uncomfortable when everyone turned their gaze to him. surely he’d said something ridiculous. “Let them all split apart,” he added in a softer voice.

There was silence as everyone considered the prospect.

“I will rule my people as their king, if that’s what’s best,” said Robin. He looked to Royce for guidance; he nodded.

“You would rule the Westerlands,” Bran said to Tyrion.

“Me?”

“You ruled as Hand,” he continued. “The Lannisters were once kings. Rule again.”

Tyrion was still a bit star-struck but he agreed that it all made perfect sense. The remaining houses of the Reach would decide amongst themselves who their king would be, as they were the only kingdom without its royal house.

“I can’t be a king.” Gendry quietly blurted that out while the others were all talking amongst themselves. They all fell silent. “I don’t even want to be a lord.”

Gendry caught Arya’s eyes. He wished he knew what she was thinking. She was technically his wife, after all. Not that it meant anything. Not that she cared.

Her heart ached for him. He was all she wanted once. And all he wanted was a family, a place to belong. His father’s homeland didn’t provide that. It was likely that nothing could.

_I can be your family._

_You wouldn’t. You’d be milady._

Gods, he wished he could go back and shut himself up. Arya was still a child at the time, but he was already fond of her. He’d wanted her from the moment they’d been reunited. He wanted to be _her_ family. He wanted to be everything.

His men from the Stormlands were in agreement that Gendry wasn’t fit to rule. They would appoint their own king. They’d let Gendry go back home, which he’d never wanted to leave to begin with. He could have wept with relief. He belonged in a forge, not a castle.

“I will go to the Reach,” Bran announced. “I am needed at the Citadel to educate others.”

Arya swallowed hard. She didn’t want to be separated from him again. She didn’t want to be separated from anyone.

“That’s a fine idea,” Sam said enthusiastically. “You’re better than all the books there put together.”

*

The meeting began to splinter off. Davos pulled Brienne aside. He’d made his decision.

“Will you tell Jon Snow that I’ve gone? I’ll come back, I think, if I live long enough.”

“Where will you go?”

“East. I’ve got questions that can’t be answered here.”

Brienne nodded. “You’re a fine man. I wish you good fortune in your quest.”

“You’re a fine knight,” he replied. “If we don’t meet again, tell Jon and Sansa and their children that I wish them the best. I wish you the best, too.”

They clasped hands and shook.

She, Sam, and the Starks accompanied him to the docks two days later. He’d sail with a handful of Unsullied to Essos and seek out any Red Priest he could find. He needed to know the answer to so many questions, but at the same time he didn’t want to.

“Goodbye, then,” he said.

“Goodbye, Davos,” Arya said. “Thank you for looking after Jon when I could not.”

Tears welled in his eyes and a lump formed in his throat. He tried to clear it without success. “Look after those girls. They’ll need someone like you.” He made a noise of frustration when tears slipped from his eyes. He wiped them away with the back of his wrist.

Bran left for the Reach the day after. Arya cried as she said goodbye.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bran said. “We’ll all see each other again. I'll find my way back home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE CHAPTERRRRRR to wrap up Jon & Sansa’s story line. I’m gonna make it as fluffy (and potentially smutty) as possible. 
> 
> I'm still planning on doing a few one-shots, and if the mood strikes me I might write that alternate ending I've been threatening.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your support. You've all been so nice and encouraging this whole time.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LAST CHAPTERRRR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is up to snuff!  
> I've got other stuff in mind but I don't know if/when I'll do a long story again. Is anyone interested in an alternate ending or should I just leave it alone?

Arya accompanied Gendry back to the forge where he used to work. They walked in silence. There were no weapons left on the rack; people had probably grabbed them in a bid to protect themselves from the Unsullied.

The whole place was covered with a fine layer of dust as though it had lay untouched for thousands of years instead of just two. Gendry ran his fingertip over the anvil. The dust stained his finger black.

“Will you start working as a smith again?” Arya asked. She was conducting her own examination of the structure and didn’t look at him when she spoke.

“Aye, I reckon I will,” Gendry answered. “This is all I was ever good at.” He swallowed hard before asking his question. “What will you do now?”

“Go back North.”

“Do you think you’ll stay there?”

“No. Not forever.”

“Where will you go?”

“I want to sail west. See something no one’s ever seen.”

“Do you think you’d ever come back to King’s Landing?”

“Not without a good reason.”

Gendry met her eyes. “Am I a good reason?”

Silence hung in the air. Arya folded her hands behind her back and continued her stroll around the smithy. “Grow your beard back.”

“What?”

“Grow back the beard you had when we first met.”

“And then?”

Arya hid her smirk from him. “And then I’ll decide whether or not you’re worth the trip down here.”

*

Sansa decided it was time to present her daughters to her kingdom, as was customary.

She’d sewn herself a gown last year before the dragon queen came. She made it from silver silk and embroidered it with weirwood leaves and fish scales. She wore a black cloak over one shoulder as Arya did. It had shaggy fur trim at the bottom which reminded her of Rickon’s wildness and Shaggydog. She commissioned a crown to be made using the two-headed wolf design on an old brooch of Rob’s.

There was a bit of fabric left over, which she cut into two long strips. She embroidered a wolf on each one with blue thread.

Jon donned the cloak Sansa made for him when they tried to rally Norther houses to their cause. She said she would make him other things, too, since he barely had any clothes and the ones he did were scarred by battle or discolored by baby vomit that the servants couldn’t quite wash out.

It seemed strange to him and yet perfectly normal. Catelyn made shirts for Ned and the boys; the girls mostly made their own, which was why Arya’s clothing was so ill-fitting.

Yes. Wives made clothes for their husbands and children. He believed for so long that he neither wanted nor would have a family. It still seemed strange to him.

*

The great hall was packed to the rafters with nobles, soldiers, and servants. Dozens more crowded around the windows hoping to get a glance of the royal family.

Sansa held a child in each arm as she sat in front of the hearth in the great hall.  For once, neither baby was screaming. They were acted like true princesses for the moment, comporting themselves with dignity and grace, or as much dignity and grace babies could muster.

Jon stood beside his family. They’d provided a stool for him – only other monarchs could sit next to a queen in a chair with arms – but he chose to stand. It wouldn’t be his job to laze about while Sansa did all the important things. No. He would stay beside her and guard her and their babies.

Pod and Brodick stood nearby. They each wore a silver direwolf pinned to their clothes over their hearts.

 

Jon took a deep breath. “The Queen’s daughters, Lyanna and Catelyn Stark.” He drew Longclaw from its sheath and held the blade high. “The Queens in the North!”

The assembled soldiers and nobles moved one by one to hold up their sword and add their voice to the call. “ _The queens in the North!_ ”

*

Lord Tarth came out to the beach the moment one of his scouts spotted a ship that was not their own coming in on the calm, clear waters.

The boat was still far off, but Lord Tarth could see the towheaded woman standing at the ship’s bow.

Brienne could just make out her father’s silhouette as he stood on the beach, waiting patiently for his only child to come home.

*

Sam rode in an open-top carriage with Bran. He thought the Reach was loveliest in winter. He tried only to think of that, of the vibrant leaves and the light dusting of white powder that covered everything.

Other thoughts tried to invade his mind, some good and some bad. He imaged his sons’ reactions to the flowers, which bloomed bright even in winter. He thought of Gilly in flowing white dresses and walking with bare feet.

He also thought of his home. Wondered what, if anything, was left of it. He tried desperately to block the image of his mother’s and sister’s faces. What would they look like now that they’d lost half their family? Would he see their faces at all, or would they be dead and buried?

Bran’s eyes were closed as though he were asleep, though Sam knew he was not. Sam tried three times to speak to him before any words came out. “My family –”

“Your sister is married to Lord Hightower’s second son,” Bran said without opening his eyes. “He treats her well.”

“And my mother?” Sam stammered.

“She’s not as strong as she used to be. She sits out in the garden most of the day. She doesn’t like to talk much.”

“But she’s alive?”

Bran nodded once. “Your sister and her husband live there. They’ll inherit the estate one day.”

Sam blinked incessantly in an attempt to hold back his tears. “But they’re alive?”

“Yes. They’re alive.”

*

The babies wriggled closer to each other before settling down to sleep.

Sansa originally thought to put them in separate cradles, but it only lasted for an hour before the girls started to scream for each other. A bigger cradle wasn’t found until dawn.

They slept in their parents’ room for now. Jon made Sansa promise to put them in their own bedroom after three months; they wouldn’t be so helpless then.

Jon sat on the edge of his bed and tugged off his boots. Sansa continued to look down on their children.

“Do you think they’ll have a childhood like ours?” Sansa asked.

“Like yours,” Jon corrected. “And yes. They’ll be happy.” He stood up and hugged Sansa from behind. “I don’t question that for a moment. They’ll be happy.”

“Do you think it could ever be like it was before?”

“I don’t want it to be the way it was. I’d have to give you up then.” He kissed her cheek.

“I spoke to the maester,” Sansa said at length.

“Why? Are you ill?”

Sansa smiled and turned around. “No, no. It was to discuss my recovery after the birthing – and before you ask, yes, everything is all right.”

“What did you want to tell me, then?”

“He said enough time has passed . . .” She lifted his hand and kissed his palm. “You can touch me.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before Jon claimed it for a kiss. His hands snaked around his neck as his moved lower down her sides. She jumped at the same moment he lifted her and wound her legs around his waist.

Jon had no idea how he’d brought them to the bed since his eyes were closed the whole time. He laid Sansa down and fell on top of her. He pushed on his elbows to keep from crushing her.

She tugged his face down to hers for another open-mouthed kiss. His beard was scratchy against the pads of her fingers. She loved that feeling. It reminded her that he was rough and strong and gentle and kind.

There was a time when being locked in a man’s arms felt like a cage. Being held by Jon felt as though she were wearing a suit of armor.

They split apart to remove their clothes. Jon’s muscles felt like knotted rope beneath Sansa’s fingers. She was as soft and sweet as ever. His hands and eyes roamed over body. There were white lines across her breasts and stomach that looked like the cracks in a tree’s bark where the skin stretched. Sansa watched Jon’s face as reacted to them. They were ugly, and she feared she’d never look quite like she used to before she gave birth.

Jon cupped one breast at a time and kissed along the marks before flicking his tongue over her rosy nipples. Those had changed shape, too, and not for the better. Jon would have disagreed if she said so out loud.

Sansa turned her attention to his broad chest and shoulders. The muscles of his arms were toned from years of wielding heavy swords. The scars were proof that he was a good soldier and an even better man.

Their mouths returned to each other for another devouring kiss. Sansa shivered when she felt his hardness pressed against her lower belly. Jon’s forehead dropped down onto hers. “I need to be inside you.”

“You _need_ to?” Sansa reached down and took his length in her hand. He groaned and shuddered at the feel of her. She started rocking her hips against him, slowly getting herself into position.

Jon was making so much noise that Sansa had to kiss him to shut him up and keep him from waking the girls. He was too wild to be gentle, but he at least remembered to prepare Sansa to take him.

He rubbed his thumb in a quick circle around the swollen bud between her legs before thrusting his fingers inside. She gasped and arched her back. She was sore, certainly but that was nothing compared to the need she felt. She moved restlessly against his hand, demanding more and more.

Jon dug his fingertips into Sansa’s hips and pulled her onto him as the same moment he thrust. He couldn’t breathe. It sounded as though he’d just run a great distance uphill. Sansa whimpered.

“Am I hurting you?” he managed. Sam told him that women could be sore for months after giving birth. Jon fervently hoped Sansa was not; he would die if he stopped.

“No.” She tugged at the hair on the back of his neck to force his mouth back to hers. “Just sensitive.”

He growled hungrily and started nipping at her neck. He increased his pace as they both traveled closer and closer to their release.

Sansa tugged at the hair on the back of his neck to get his attention. “Jon,” she said breathlessly.

He pushed up on his elbows to look at her and ran his thumb across her lower lip. Her copper hair spread around her like a halo. She was so beautiful. “Sansa.”

She smirked. “I want a boy this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING YOU GUYS ARE SO NICE


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